The Works of John Dryden: Poetical works

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Page 367 - Happy the man, and happy he alone, He, who can call to-day his own: He who secure within, can say, To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.
Page 16 - The third way is that of imitation, where the translator (if now he has not lost that name) assumes the liberty, not only to vary from the words and sense, but to forsake them both as he sees occasion; and taking only some general hints from the original, to run division on the groundwork, as he pleases.
Page 22 - ... poesie is of so subtle a spirit, that in pouring out of one language into another, it will all evaporate; and if a new spirit" be not added in the transfusion, there will remain nothing but a caput mortuum...
Page 291 - He is every where confident of his own reason, and assuming an absolute command, not only over his vulgar reader, but even his patron Memmius. For he is always bidding him attend, as if he had the rod over him ; and using a magisterial authority, while he instructs him.
Page 368 - What is't to me, Who never sail in her unfaithful sea, If storms arise and clouds grow black; If the mast split and threaten wreck? Then let the greedy merchant fear For his ill-gotten gain, And pray to gods that will not hear, While the debating winds and billows bear His wealth into the main.
Page 24 - I was desired to say that the author, 15 who is of the fair sex, understood not Latin. But if she does not, I am afraid she has given us occasion to be ashamed who do.
Page 123 - And would not make her master's compliment ; But persecuted, to the powers she flies, And close between the legs of Jove she lies: He with a gracious ear the suppliant heard, And saved her life ; then what he was declared, And own'd the god.
Page 231 - But suffer inmate souls secure to dwell, Lest from their seats your parents you expel; With rabid hunger feed upon your kind, Or from a beast dislodge a brother's mind.
Page lxiv - Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees And necligent, and truste on flaterye. But ye that holden this tale a folye, As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, Taketh the moralite, goode men.
Page 367 - I can enjoy her while she's kind; But when she dances in the wind, And shakes her wings, and will not stay, I puff the prostitute away. The little or the much she gave is quietly resigned; Content with poverty my soul I arm, And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

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