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Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.

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
Nigh
Creeps
Age
Think
Thinking

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As when the dove returning bore the mark Of earth restored to the long labouring ark The relics of mankind, secure at rest, Oped every window to receive the guest, And the fair bearer of the message bless'd.
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A lazy frost, a numbness of the mind.
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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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Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find is boundless grace, and mercy to mankind, abhors the cruel.
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Order is the greatest grace.
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An ugly woman in a rich habit set out with jewels nothing can become.
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Imitation pleases, because it affords matter for inquiring into the truth or falsehood of imitation, by comparing its likeness or unlikeness with the original.
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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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Time glides with undiscover'd haste The future but a length behind the past.
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Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease.
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He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.
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A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.
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War is a trade of kings.
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Murder may pass unpunishd for a time, But tardy justice will oertake the crime.
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And write whatever Time shall bring to pass With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
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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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Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light but lucky men are favorites of heaven all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
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Love taught him shame, and shame with love at strife Soon taught the sweet civilities of life.
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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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Hushed as midnight silence.
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