John Dryden

He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.

He who trusts secrets to a servant makes him his master.

God never made His work for man to mend.

God never made His work for man to mend.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;
Within that circle none durst walk but he.

But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be;
Within that circle none durst walk but he.

Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he read more

Deserted, at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

'Tis Fate that flings the dice,
And as she flings
Of kings makes peasants,
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'Tis Fate that flings the dice,
And as she flings
Of kings makes peasants,
And of peasants kings.