Quote

In other things the knowing artist may Judge better than the people but a play, (Made for delight, and for no other use) If you approve it not, has no excuse.

Edmund Waller

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Edmund Waller
Age: 81 †
Born: 1606
Born: March 3
Died: 1687
Died: October 21
Poet
Politician
Writer
Coleshill
Buckinghamshire
Gentleman that loves the peace
True son of the Church of England and a lover of his countries liberty
Edmund Waller
Use
Artist
Approve
May
Judge
Better
Excuse
Play
Delight
Made
Judging
Things
Knowing
People
Acting

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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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Poets may boast (as safely-vain) Their work shall with the world remain: Both bound together, live, or die, The verses and the prophecy. But who can hope his lines shou'd long Last, in a daily changing tongue? While they are new, envy prevails, And as that dies, our language fails.
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To love is to believe, to hope, to know 'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.
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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.
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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
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Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
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Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
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Others may use the ocean as their road Only the English make it their abode.
Edmund Waller
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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
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Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.
Edmund Waller
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
Edmund Waller