Life of Dryden

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Cadell and Company, 1827 - Chivalry
 

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Page 170 - Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower...
Page 420 - Collier, because in many things he has taxed me justly; and I have pleaded guilty to all thoughts and expressions of mine which can be truly argued of obscenity, profaneness, or immorality, and retract them. If he be my enemy, let him triumph; if he be my friend, as I have given him no personal occasion to be otherwise, he will be glad of my repentance. It becomes me not to draw my pen in the defence of a bad cause, when I have so often drawn it for a good one.
Page 308 - Shall I speak plain, and, in a nation free, Assume an honest layman's liberty ? I think, according to my little skill, To my own mother-church submitting still, That many have been saved, and many may, Who never heard this question brought in play.
Page 268 - Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made still a blundering kind of melody ; Spurred boldly on, and dashed through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in...
Page 311 - Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure : A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies, And turn delight into a Sacrifice.
Page 213 - I desire to be no longer the Sisyphus of the stage; to roll up a stone with endless labour, which, to follow the proverb, gathers no moss; and which is perpetually falling down again. I never thought myself very fit for an employment, where many of my predecessors have excelled me in all kinds; and some of my contemporaries, even in my own partial judgment, have outdone me in comedy.
Page 211 - Tis much more hard to please himself than you ; And, out of no feigned modesty, this day Damns his laborious trifle of a play ; Not that it's worse than what before he writ, But he has now another taste of wit ; And, to confess a truth, though out of time, Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme. Passion's too fierce to be in fetters bound, And Nature flies him like enchanted ground...
Page 123 - I boldly answer him that an heroic poet is not tied to a bare representation of what is true, or exceeding probable : but that he may let himself loose to visionary objects, and to the representation of such things as, depending not on sense and therefore not to be comprehended by knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination.
Page 290 - Th' unconscious stream sleeps o'er thee like a lake. " Next plung'da feeble, but a desperate pack, With each a sickly brother at his back : Sons of a day ! just buoyant on the flood, Then number'd with the puppies in the mud.
Page 316 - Hoc est corpus meum," and dashed against each other the figurative half-meanings of the Protestant sects. Every objection was resolved into omnipotence ; and after repeating at St. Mary's the Athanasian Creed, I humbly acquiesced in the mystery of the Real Presence.

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