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If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.

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
Foot
Wander
Walking
Farthest
Journey
Sauntering
Walks
Trekking
Feet
Strolling
Trying
Merry
Hiking

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The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.
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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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For thee, sweet month the groves green liveries wear. If not the first, the fairest of the year For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours, And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers. When thy short reign is past, the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly on.
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…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
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Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
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A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day Like Hectors in at every petty fray.
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He who trusts a secret to his servant makes his own man his master.
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A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, And made her man his paradise forego, Where at heart's ease he liv'd and might have been As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
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The soft complaining flute, In dying notes, discovers The woes of hopeless lovers.
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Railing in other men may be a crime, But ought to pass for mere instinct in him: Instinct he follows and no further knows, For to write verse with him is to transprose.
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Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
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They first condemn that first advised the ill.
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The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms.
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Bets at first were fool-traps, where the wise like spiders lay in ambush for the flies.
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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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Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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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.
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