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Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.

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
Sex
Lies
Rest
Wife
Lying
Epitaph

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Railing and praising were his usual themes and both showed his judgment in extremes. Either over violent or over civil, so everyone to him was either god or devil.
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As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
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Every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies.
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Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made still a blundering kind of melody Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in Free from all meaning whether good or bad, And in one word, heroically mad.
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What I have left is from my native spring I've still a heart that swells, in scorn of fate, And lifts me to my banks.
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If passion rules, how weak does reason prove!
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The longest tyranny that ever sway'd Was that wherein our ancestors betray'd Their free-born reason to the Stagirite [Aristotle], And made his torch their universal light. So truth, while only one suppli'd the state, Grew scarce, and dear, and yet sophisticate.
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For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
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Order is the greatest grace.
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For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
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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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A farce is that in poetry which grotesque (caricature) is in painting. The persons and actions of a farce are all unnatural, and the manners false, that is, inconsistent with the characters of mankind and grotesque painting is the just resemblance of this.
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For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
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A coward is the kindest animal 'Tis the most forgiving creature in a fight.
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So poetry, which is in Oxford made An art, in London only is a trade.
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Murder may pass unpunishd for a time, But tardy justice will oertake the crime.
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The true Amphitryon is the Amphitryon where we dine.
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Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
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Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
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