You charm'd me not with that fair face Though it was all divine: To be another's is the grace, That makes me wish you mine. The Gods and Fortune take their part Who like young monarchs fight; And boldly dare invade that heart Which is another's right. First mad with hope we undertake To pull up every bar; But once possess'd, we faintly make A dull defensive war. Now every friend is turn'd a foe In hope to get our store: And passion makes us cowards grow, Which made us brave before.
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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…
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