John Dryden

Content with poverty, my soul I arm;
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

Content with poverty, my soul I arm;
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Ay, these look like the workmanship of heaven;
This is the porcelain clay of human kind,
And read more

Ay, these look like the workmanship of heaven;
This is the porcelain clay of human kind,
And therefore cast into these noble moulds.

You know I met you,
Kist you, and prest you close within my arms,
With all the read more

You know I met you,
Kist you, and prest you close within my arms,
With all the tenderness of wifely love.

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.