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Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
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
Virtue
Founded
Literature
Principal
True
Hath
Ends
Whereas
Always
Affection
Love
Goodness
Continue
Grace
Affections
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Seas are the fields of combat for the winds but when they sweep along some flowery coast, their wings move mildly, and their rage is lost.
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The people have a right supreme To make their kings, for Kings are made for them. All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Trust, Which when resum'd, can be no longer just. Successionm for the general good design'd, In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind.
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Take not away the life you cannot give: For all things have an equal right to live.
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Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
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But love's a malady without a cure.
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When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.
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If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
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Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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My whole life Has been a golden dream of love and friendship.
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The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
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The poorest of the sex have still an itch To know their fortunes, equal to the rich. The dairy-maid inquires, if she shall take The trusty tailor, and the cook forsake.
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For every inch that is not fool, is rogue.
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Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown, A flaw is in thy ill-bak'd vessel found 'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound, Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command, Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand: Now take the mould now bend thy mind to feel The first sharp motions of the forming wheel.
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The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?
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Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.
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I strongly wish for what I faintly hope like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.
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None but the brave deserve the fair.
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Love and Time with reverence use, Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before.
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