John Dryden

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding read more

Creator Venus, genial power of love,
The bliss of men below, and gods above!
Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race,
Dost fairest shine, and best become thy place;
For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear,
Thy mouth reveals the spring, and opens all the year;
Thee, goddess, thee, the storms of winter fly,
Earth smiles with flowers renewing, laughs the sky.

Swear, food, or starve; for the dilemma's even;
A tradesman thou! and hope to go to heaven?

Swear, food, or starve; for the dilemma's even;
A tradesman thou! and hope to go to heaven?

Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.

Drawn to the dregs of a democracy.

The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees,
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees.
Three read more

The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees,
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees.
Three centuries he grows, and three he stays
Supreme in state; and in three more decays.

Such subtle covenants shall be made,
Till peace itself is war in masquerade.

Such subtle covenants shall be made,
Till peace itself is war in masquerade.