1 min read
Слушать(AI)Epitaph on Mrs Margaret Paston of Barningham in Norfolk
So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet,
So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit,
Require at least an age in one to meet.
In her they met; but long they could not stay, 'Twas gold too fine to fix without allay.
Heaven's image was in her so well exprest,
Her very sight upbraided all the rest;
Too justly ravished from an age like this,
Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.
John Henry Dryden
John Dryden (/ˈdraɪdən/; 19 August [O.S. 9 August] 1631 – 12 May [O.S. 1 May] 1700) was an English poet, literary critic, translator, and playw
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Secular Masque
Enter US Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace, An hundred times the rolling sun Around the radiant belt has run In his revolving race Behold, behold, the goal in sight, Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight
Dreams
Dreams are but interludes which Fancy makes; When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes: Compounds a medley of disjointed things, A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings:
Your hay it is mowd and your corn is reapd
(Comus ) Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reap'd; Your barns will be full, and your hovels heap'd: Come, my boys, come; Come, my boys, come; And merrily roar out Harvest Home (Chorus ) Come, my boys, come; Come, my boys, come;...
To My Honoured Friend Dr Charleton On His Learned and Useful Works But More Particularly His Trea
The longest tyranny that ever swayed, Was that wherein our ancestors betrayed Their free-born reason to the Stagyrite, And made his torch their universal light So truth, while only one supplied the state,
