The Works of John Dryden: Now First Collected ...


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Seite 277 - I am obliged to him for discovering to me this back door. But I am not yet resolved on my retreat. For I am of opinion that they cannot be good poets who are not accustomed to argue well. False reasonings and colours of speech are the certain marks of one who does not understand the stage. For moral truth is the mistress of the poet as much as of the philosopher. Poesy must resemble natural truth, but it must be ethical.
Seite 445 - Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, That I had rather die than once remove it. Yet he for whom I grieve shall never know it, My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it: Not a sigh nor a tear my pain discloses; But they fall silently like dew on roses. Thus to prevent my love from being cruel, My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel: And while I suffer this to give him quiet, My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
Seite 388 - But while dead colours he with care did lay, He fears his wit, or plot, he did not weigh, Which are the living beauties of a play.
Seite 113 - This worthless present was designed you long before it was a play; when it was only a confused mass of thoughts, tumbling over one another in the dark; when the fancy was yet in its first work, moving the sleeping images of things towards the light, there to be distinguished, and then either chosen or rejected by the judgment; it was yours, my Lord, before I could call it mine.
Seite 8 - I live a rent-charge on his providence. But you, whom every Muse and Grace adorn, Whom I foresee to better fortune born, Be kind to my remains ; and, oh defend, Against your judgment, your departed friend ! Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, But shade those laurels which descend to you : And take for tribute what these lines express ; You merit more, nor could my love do less.
Seite 330 - All things are hush'd as Nature's self lay dead, The mountains seem to nod their drowsy head : The little birds in dreams their songs repeat, And sleeping flowers beneath the night dews sweat. Even lust and envy sleep...
Seite 269 - I am satisfied, if it cause delight: for delight is the\ chief, if not the only, end of poesy : instruction can / be admitted but in the second place ; for poesy only / instructs as it delights.
Seite 280 - THE drift of the ensuing Discourse was chiefly to vindicate the honour of our English writers, from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the French before them.
Seite 270 - Thus prose, though the rightful prince, yet is by common consent deposed, as too weak for the government of serious plays ; and he failing, there now start up two competitors ; one the nearer in blood, which is blank verse; the other more fit for the ends of government, which is rhyme. Blank verse is, indeed, the nearer prose, but he is blemished with the weakness of his predecessor. Rhyme (for I will deal clearly) has somewhat of the usurper in him ; but he is brave and generous, and his dominion...
Seite 297 - On what new happy climate are we thrown, So long kept secret, and so lately known ? As if our old world modestly withdrew, And here in private had brought forth a new.

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