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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419882" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Mr. Granville, On His Excellent Tragedy, Called Heroic Love</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend, <br>How could I envy, what I must commend! <br>But since 'tis nature's law, in love and wit, <br>That youth should reign, and withering age submit, <br>With less regret those laurels I resign, <br>Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine. <br>With better grace an ancient chief may yield <br>The long contended honours of the field, <br>Than venture all his fortune at a cast, <br>And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last. <br>Young princes, obstinate to win the prize, <br>Though yearly beaten, yearly yet they rise: <br>Old monarchs, though successful, still in doubt, <br>Catch at a peace, and wisely turn devout. <br>Thine be the laurel, then; thy blooming age <br>Can best, if any can, support the stage; <br>Which so declines, that shortly we may see <br>Players and plays reduced to second infancy: <br>Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown, <br>They plot not on the stage, but on the town, <br>And, in despair their empty pit to fill, <br>Set up some foreign monster in a bill. <br>Thus they jog on, still tricking, never thriving, <br>And murdering plays, which they miscall reviving. <br>Our sense is nonsense, through their pipes conveyed; <br>Scarce can a poet know the play he made, <br>'Tis so disguised in death; nor thinks 'tis he <br>That suffers in the mangled tragedy. <br>Thus Itys first was killed, and after dressed <br>For his own sire, the chief invited guest. <br>I say not this of thy successful scenes, <br>Where thine was all the glory, theirs the gains. <br>With length of time, much judgment, and more toil, <br>Not ill they acted what they could not spoil. <br>Their setting sun still shoots a glimmering ray, <br>Like ancient Rome, majestic in decay; <br>And better gleanings their worn soil can boast, <br>Than the crab-vintage of the neighbouring coast. <br>This difference yet the judging world will see; <br>Thou copiest Homer, and they copy thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Dryden">John Dryden</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419882" data-title="To Mr. Granville, On His Excellent Tragedy, Called Heroic Love de John Dryden" data-description="Auspicious poet, wert thou not my friend, 
How could I envy, what I must commend! 
But since 'tis nature's law, in love and wit, 
That youth should reign, and withering age submit, 
With less regret those laurels I resign, 
Which, dying on my brow..."></div>
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