The Works of John Dryden: Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes, Volume 6 (Google eBook)

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A. Constable & Company, 1821
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Page 229 - Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path...
Page 229 - High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin...
Page 291 - Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, For the capacity of my ruder powers: I fear it much; and I do fear besides, That I shall lose distinction in my joys...
Page 194 - E'en wondered at because he dropt no sooner; Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years; Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more, Till, like a clock worn out with eating Time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Page 229 - For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast; keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue: If you...
Page 123 - Yet man, vain man, would with his short-lined plummet Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. Whatever is, is in its causes just, Since all things are by fate. But purblind man Sees but a part o' th' chain, the nearest links, His eyes not carrying to that equal beam That poises all above.
Page 264 - God save him; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience ; That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Page 375 - AmboyS" upon the theatre ; but when I had taken up what I supposed a fallen star, I found I had been cozened with a jelly ;* nothing but a cold, dull mass, which glittered no longer than it was shooting...
Page 229 - For time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And, with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing.
Page 458 - Kings' titles commonly begin by force, Which time wears off, and mellows into right; So power, which, in one age, is tyranny, Is ripened, in the next, to true succession: She's in possession.

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