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An hour will come, with pleasure to relate Your sorrows past, as benefits of Fate.
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
Benefits
Sorrow
Fate
Pleasure
Hours
Past
Sorrows
Come
Relate
Hour
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Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
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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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Dead men tell no tales.
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Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.
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Whatever is, is in its causes just.
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My love's a noble madness.
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Let cheerfulness on happy fortune wait.
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Forgiveness to the injured does belong but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
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Jealousy's a proof of love, But 'tis a weak and unavailing medicine It puts out the disease and makes it show, But has no power to cure.
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The Jews, a headstrong, moody, murmuring race.
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Nature meant me A wife, a silly, harmless, household dove, Fond without art, and kind without deceit.
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Order is the greatest grace.
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A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
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Even kings but play and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
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Words are but pictures of our thoughts.
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An ugly woman in a rich habit set out with jewels nothing can become.
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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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If you are for a merry jaunt, I will try, for once, who can foot it farthest.
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Maintain your post: That's all the fame you need For 'tis impossible you should proceed.
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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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