Poems by John Dryden

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To you who live in chill degree,
FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony
Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring
Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize
High state and honours to others impart,
Go tell Amynta, gentle swain,
TO THE READER.
AN ODE, IN HONOUR OF ST CECILIA'S DAY.
PROLOGUE
You saw our wife was chaste, yet thoroughly tried,
By Me Dryden And The Earl Of Mulgrave,[1] 1679.
The Year Of Wonders, 1666.
A Poem On The Happy Restoration And Return Of His Sacred Majesty Charles Ii., 1660.
A Poem On The Prince, Born June 10, 1688.
A Panegyrical Poem, Dedicated To The Memory Of The Late Countess Of Abingdon.
We act by fits and starts, like drowning men,
After our Æsop's fable shown to-day,
Poets, like disputants, when reasons fail,
You've seen a pair of faithful lovers die:
What Sophocles could undertake alone,
Like some raw sophister that mounts the pulpit,
Most modern wits such monstrous fools have shown,
Perhaps the parson[1] stretch'd a point too far,
A Poet once the Spartans led to fight,
To all and singular in this full meeting,
SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.
They who have best succeeded on the stage,
Of all dramatic writing, comic wit,
As Jupiter I made my court in vain;
Oft has our poet wish'd, this happy seat
(Prologue To The University Of Oxford, Spoken By Mr Hart, At The Acting Of "The Silent Woman.")
So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet,
Sacred To The Immortal Memory Of Sir Palmes Fairbone, Knight, Governor Of Tangier; In Execution Of Which Command, He Was Mortally Wounded By A Shot From The Moors, Then Besieging The Town, In The Forty-Sixth Year Of His Age. October 24, 1680.
Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
And now 'tis time; for their officious haste,
TIR. Choose the darkest part o' th' grove,
All human things are subject to decay,
He who could view the book of destiny,
A Pastoral Elegy.
Must noble Hastings immaturely die,
(Set To Music By Dr Blow.)
Below this marble monument is laid
He who in impious times undaunted stood,
CLARENDON had law and sense,
BOOK I.
Full twenty years and more, our labouring stage
To say, this comedy pleased long ago,
BY LODOWICK CARLELL, ESQ., 1690.
Our author, by experience, finds it true,
Were you but half so wise as you're severe,
The unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen,
The judge removed, though he's no more my lord,
Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town,
True wit has seen its best days long ago;
When Athens all the Grecian state did guide,
ACTED AT OXFORD, 1680.
SPOKEN TO THE KING AND QUEEN AT THEIR COMING TO THE HOUSE.
UPON THE UNION OF THE TWO COMPANIES IN 1686.
POETS, like lawful monarchs, ruled the stage,
If yet there be a few that take delight
[Enter Mr Bright.]
REVIVED FOR OUR AUTHOR'S BENEFIT, ANNO 1700.
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON. 1690.
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON, REPRESENTING THE GHOST OF SHAKSPEARE.
As needy gallants in the scrivener's hands,
UPON HIS FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE DUKE'S THEATRE, AFTER HIS RETURN FROM SCOTLAND, 1682.
Fools, which each man meets in his dish each day,
As the music plays a soft air, the curtain rises slowly and discovers an Indian boy and girl sleeping under two plantain-trees; and, when the curtain is almost up, the music turns into a tune expressing an alarm, at which the boy awakes, and speaks:
'Tis much desired, you judges of the town
As when a tree's cut down, the secret root
SPOKEN BY MR HART.
The famed Italian Muse, whose rhymes advance
What Greece, when learning flourish'd, only knew,
Discord and plots, which have undone our age,
Though actors cannot much of learning boast,
Self-love, which, never rightly understood,
A plain-built[1] house, after so long a stay,
So shipwreck'd passengers escape to land,
AN EPISTLE.
Chloe found Amyntas lying,
Written In The Year 1662.
I feed a flame within, which so torments me,
Who, Being Crossed By Their Friends, Fell Mad For One Another; And Now First Meet In Bedlam.
What state of life can be so blest
Who ever saw a noble sight,
Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief,
I.
I.
Where a battle is supposed to be given behind the scenes, with drums, trumpets, and military shouts and excursions; after which, the Britons, expressing their joy for the victory, sing this song of triumph.
I.
A parish priest was of the pilgrim train;
There lived, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A Song.
A VISION.
A Poem, In Three Parts.
A Choir of bright beauties in spring did appear,
A SATIRE AGAINST SEDITION.
Enter JANUS.
On a bank, beside a willow,
In days of old, when Arthur fill'd the throne,
A FUNERAL PINDARIC POEM, SACRED TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF KING CHARLES II.
The Grecian wits, who Satire first began,
WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM OF PALAMON AND ARCITE.
On The Memorable Victory Gained By The Duke Over The Hollanders, June 3, 1665. And On Her Journey Afterwards Into The North.
Thou hast inspired me with thy soul, and I
A Panegyric On His Coronation.
Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend,
The blast of common censure could I fear,
Sure there's a fate in plays, and 'tis in vain
Well, then, the promised hour is come at last,
So Joseph, yet a youth, expounded well
'Tis hard, my friend, to write in such an age,
On His Learned And Useful Works; But More Particularly His Treatise Of Stonehenge,[1] By Him Restored To The True Founder.
As there is music uninform'd by art
How bless'd is he who leads a country life,
Once I beheld the fairest of her kind,
When factious rage to cruel exile drove
Whether the fruitful Nile, or Tyrian shore,
As seamen, shipwreck'd on some happy shore,
Presented On New Year's Day, 1662.
Farewell, too little, and too lately known,
An Ode. 1685.
Three Poets, in three distant ages born,
Oh, last and best of Scots! who didst maintain
Of gentle blood, his parents' only treasure,
CREATOR SPIRIT, by whose aid

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