01c. 1666 ADLook round the habitable world: how few Know their own good, or knowing it, pursue.John Dryden / quote ↗
02c. 1666 ADOur souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.John Dryden / quote ↗
03c. 1666 ADThespis, the first professor of our art, At country wakes sung ballads from a cart.John Dryden / quote ↗
04c. 1666 ADErrors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls must dive below.John Dryden / quote ↗
09c. 1666 ADBut Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.John Dryden / quote ↗
10c. 1666 ADI am as free as Nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.John Dryden / quote ↗
11c. 1666 ADForgiveness to the injured does belong; But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong.John Dryden / quote ↗
12c. 1666 ADWhat precious drops are those Which silently each other's track pursue, Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew?John Dryden / quote ↗
13c. 1666 ADFame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; And they have kept it since by being dead.John Dryden / quote ↗
14c. 1666 ADDeath in itself is nothing; but we fear To be we know not what, we know not where.John Dryden / quote ↗
15c. 1666 ADWhen I consider life, 't is all a cheat. Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay. To-morrow 's falser than the former day; Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest. Strange cozenage! none would live past years again, Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; And from the dregs of life think to receive What the first sprightly running could not give.John Dryden / quote ↗
16c. 1666 AD'T is not for nothing that we life pursue; It pays our hopes with something still that 's new.John Dryden / quote ↗
21c. 1666 ADOf no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long,— Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. Fate seem'd 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.John Dryden / quote ↗
22c. 1666 ADShe, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.John Dryden / quote ↗
