274 DRYDEN. 



and speaks of the 



11 Repeated prayer 

 Which stormed the skies and ravished Charles from thence.&quot; 



There is also a certain everydayness, not to say vulgarity, 

 of phrase, which Dryden never wholly refined away, and 

 which continually tempts us to sum up at once against him 

 as the greatest poet that ever was or could be made wholly 

 out of prose. 



&quot; Heaven would no bargain for its blessings drive &quot; 



is an example. On the other hand, there are a few verses 

 almost worthy of his best days, as these : 



&quot; Some lazy ages lost in sleep and ease, 

 No action leave to busy chronicles ; 

 Such whose supine felicity but makes 

 In story chasms, in epochas mistakes, 

 O er whom Time gently shakes his wings of down, 

 Till with his silent sickle they are mown.&quot; 



These are all the more noteworthy, that Dryden, unless in 

 argument, is seldom equal for six lines together. In the 

 poem to Lord Clarendon (1662) there are four verses that 

 have something of the &quot;energy divine&quot; for which Pope 

 praised his master. 



&quot;Let envy, then, those crimes within you see 

 From which the happy never must be free ; 

 Envy that does with misery reside, 

 The joy and the revenge of ruined pride.&quot; 



In his &quot; Aurengzebe&quot; (1675) there is a passage, of which, 

 as it is a good example of Dryden, I shall quote the whole, 

 though my purpose aims mainly at the latter verses : 



&quot; When I consider life, t is all a cheat ; 

 Yet, fooled with Hope, men favour the deceit, 

 Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay ; 

 To-morrow s falser than the former day, 

 Lies worse, and, while it says we shall be blest 

 With some new joys, cuts off what we possest. 



