John Dryden

At every close she made, th' attending throng
Replied, and bore the burden of the song:
So read more

At every close she made, th' attending throng
Replied, and bore the burden of the song:
So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note,
It seemed the music melted in the throat.

But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice.

But Esau's hands suit ill with Jacob's voice.

They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite.

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet,
Which once read more

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet,
Which once inflam'd my soul, and still inspires my wit.

When Misfortune is asleep, let no one wake her.
[Lat., Quando la mala ventura se duerme, nadie la despierte.]

When Misfortune is asleep, let no one wake her.
[Lat., Quando la mala ventura se duerme, nadie la despierte.]