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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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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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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The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.
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Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
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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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And keeps the palace of the soul.
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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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His kingdom come! For this we pray in vain, Unless He does in our affections reign. How fond it were to wish for such a King, And no obedience to his sceptre bring, Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light His service freedom, and His judgments right.
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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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Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.
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The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.
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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
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Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so 'tis but what we in our autumn do.
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Others may use the ocean as their road Only the English make it their abode.
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
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All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.
Edmund Waller