John Dryden

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
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Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deserted at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

Ill writers are usually the sharpest censors.

Ill writers are usually the sharpest censors.

Better shun the bait than struggle in the snare.

Better shun the bait than struggle in the snare.

Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.

Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.

A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in read more

A man so various, that he seem'd to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong.
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.