1 min read
Слушать(AI)Life a Cheat
When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat;
Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be
With some new joys, cuts off what we possessed.
Strange cozenage! none would live past years again,
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;
And, from the dregs of life, think to
What the first sprightly running could not give.
I'm tired with waiting for this chemic gold,
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.
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
To The Pious Memory Of The Accomplished Young Lady Mrs Anne Killigrew Excellent in the Two Sister
I Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Made in the last promotion of the Blest; Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,
Epitaph on the Lady Whitmore
Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, A wife, a mistress, and a friend, in one; Rest in this tomb, raised at thy husband's cost, Here sadly summing, what he had, and lost
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,
Eleonora A Panegyrical
Dedicated to the Memory of the Late Countess of Abingdon As when some great and gracious monarch dies, Soft whispers first and mournful Among the sad attendants; then the
