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Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.
John Dryden
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John Dryden
Age: 68 †
Born: 1631
Born: August 7
Died: 1700
Died: May 12
Hymnwriter
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Aldwincle
Northamptonshire
Beauty
Betrayed
Literature
Betrayal
Glide
Sure
Pleased
Footing
Cannot
Betray
Shun
Doe
Smooth
Swiftly
Way
Ice
Tread
Like
Surface
Slippery
Danger
Dangers
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The conscience of a people is their power.
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But 'tis the talent of our English nation, Still to be plotting some new reformation.
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Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
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Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend God never made his work for man to mend.
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Secret guilt is by silence revealed.
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For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
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Repentance is but want of power to sin.
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I'm a little wounded, but I am not slain I will lay me down to bleed a while. Then I'll rise and fight again.
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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He wants worth who dares not praise a foe.
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Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
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Maintain your post: That's all the fame you need For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
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Farewell, too little, and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own.
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For truth has such a face and such a mien, as to be loved needs only to be seen.
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For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
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How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.
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