Selected poem by John Dryden

        
        HIDDEN FLAME
 
      

            FEED a flame within, which so torments me
            That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me:
            'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
            That I had rather die than once remove it.
            
            Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it;
            My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.
            Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses,
            But they fall silently, like dew on roses.
            
            Thus, to prevent my Love from being cruel,
            My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel;
            And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
            My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
            
            On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
            While I conceal my love no frown can fright me.
            To be more happy I dare not aspire,
            Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.
 

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MAC FLECKNOE


            LL human things are subject to decay,
            And, when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
            This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
            Was called to empire, and had governed long;
            In prose and verse was found without dispute,
            Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
            This agèd prince, now flourished in peace,
            And blessed with issue of a large increase,
            Worn out with business, did at length debate
            To settle the succession of the state;
            And, pondering which of all his sons was fit
            To reign, and wage immortal war with wit,
            Cried,--"'Tis resolved! for nature pleads, that he
            Should only rule, who most resembles me.
            Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
            Mature in dulness from his tender years;
            Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he,
            Who stands confirmed in full stupidity.
            The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
            But Shadwell never deviates into sense;
            Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
            Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
            But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
            His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
            Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye,
            And seems designed for thoughtless majesty;
            Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain,
            And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.
            Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee,
            Thou last great prophet of tautology!
            Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
            Was sent before but to prepare the way;
            And, coarsely clad in Norwich drugget, came
            To teach the nation in thy greater name."