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None are so busy as the fool and the knave.

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
Knave
Knaves
Busy
None
Fool

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To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.
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Humility and resignation are our prime virtues.
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Good sense and good-nature are never separated, though the ignorant world has thought otherwise. Good-nature, by which I mean beneficence and candor, is the product of right reason.
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Want is a bitter and a hateful good, Because its virtues are not understood Yet many things, impossible to thought, Have been by need to full perfection brought. The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, Sharpness of wit, and active diligence Prudence at once, and fortitude it gives And, if in patience taken, mends our lives.
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Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
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The brave man seeks not popular applause, Nor, overpower'd with arms, deserts his cause Unsham'd, though foil'd, he does the best he can, Force is of brutes, but honor is of man.
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Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.
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Love is love's reward.
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Not to ask is not be denied.
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A coward is the kindest animal 'Tis the most forgiving creature in a fight.
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Parting is worse than death it is death of love!
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Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.
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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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Silence in times of suffering is the best.
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He who would search for pearls must dive below.
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And that one hunting, which the Devil design'd For one fair female, lost him half the kind.
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You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.
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As one that neither seeks, nor shuns his foe.
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Imagination in a poet is a faculty so wild and lawless that, like a high ranging spaniel, it must have clogs tied to it, lest it outrun the judgment. The great easiness of blank verse renders the poet too luxuriant. He is tempted to say many things which might better be omitted, or, at least shut up in fewer words.
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Maintain your post: That's all the fame you need For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
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