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The wretched have no friends.

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
Wretched
Friends

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My whole life Has been a golden dream of love and friendship.
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Hushed as midnight silence.
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Not sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find, A fiercer torment than a guilty mind, Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse, Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.
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Heroic poetry has ever been esteemed the greatest work of human nature.
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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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Nature meant me A wife, a silly, harmless, household dove, Fond without art, and kind without deceit.
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Youth should watch joys and shoot them as they fly.
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Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.
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Good sense and good nature are never separated and good nature is the product of right reason.
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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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For what can power give more than food and drink, To live at ease, and not be bound to think?
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Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.
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