DRYDEN. 317 



11 The greatest argument for love is love.&quot; 

 &quot; Few know the use of life before t is past.&quot; 

 11 Time gives himself and is not valued.&quot; 



&quot; Death in itself is nothing ; but we fear 

 To be we know not what, we know not where.** 



&quot; Love either finds equality or makes it ; 

 Like death, he knows no difference in degrees.&quot; 



&quot; That s empire, that which I can give away.&quot; 



&quot; Yours is a soul irregularly great, 

 Which, wanting temper, yet abounds in heat.&quot; 



&quot; Forgiveness to the injured does belong, 

 But they ne er pardon who have done the wrong.&quot; 



&quot; Poor women s thoughts are all extempore.&quot; 



* The cause of love can never be assigned, 

 T is in no face, but in the lover s mind,&quot;f 



&quot; Heaven can forgive a crime to penitence, 

 For Heaven can judge if penitence be true ; 

 But man, who knows not hearts, should make examples.&quot; 



&quot; Kings titles commonly begin by force, 

 &quot;Which time wears off and mellows into right.&quot; 



&quot; Fear s a large promisor ; who subject live 

 To that base passion, know not what they give.* 



&quot; The secret pleasure of the generous act 

 Is the great mind s great bribe.&quot; 



11 That bad thing, gold, buys all good things.&quot; 

 &quot; Why, love does all that s noble here below.&quot; 



&quot; To prove religion true, 

 If either wit or sufferings could suffice, 

 All faiths afford the constant and the wise.&quot; 



But Pryden, as he tells us himself, 



&quot; Grew weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme ; 

 Passion s too fierce to be in fetters bound, 

 And Nature flies him like enchanted ground.&quot; 



The finest things in his plays were written in blank verse, 

 * This recalls a striking verse of Alfred de Musset : 



11 La muse est toujours belle, 

 Meme pour 1 insense, rnerne pour 1 impuissant, 

 Car so, bcaut^ pour nous, c est notre amour pour elle,* 



