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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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By viewing nature, nature's handmaid art, Makes mighty things from small beginnings grow: Thus fishes first to shipping did impart, Their tail the rudder, and their head the prow.
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Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
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Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus's blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
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Every language is so full of its own proprieties that what is beautiful in one is often barbarous, nay, sometimes nonsense, in another.
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If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi, 'tis no matter what they think they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong their judgment is a mere lottery.
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Dancing is the poetry of the foot.
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He who trusts a secret to his servant makes his own man his master.
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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I saw myself the lambent easy light Gild the brown horror, and dispel the night.
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He with a graceful pride, While his rider every hand survey'd, Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade Not moving forward, yet with every bound Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
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A good conscience is a port which is landlocked on every side, where no winds can possibly invade. There a man may not only see his own image, but that of his Maker, clearly reflected from the undisturbed waters.
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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
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Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
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To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.
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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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But how can finite grasp Infinity?
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When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit Trust on, and think tomorrow will repay. Tomorrow's falser than the former day.
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