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And plenty makes us poor.

John Dryden

Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.
JOHN DRYDEN

Emotion Enthusiasm Height Imagination Paint Poet Soul
The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
JOHN DRYDEN

Boil Nature Rise
For they can conquer who believe they can.
JOHN DRYDEN

Believe Conquer
He was exhaled; his great Creator drew His spirit, as the sun the morning dew.
JOHN DRYDEN

Creation Dew Greatness Himself Morning Spirit
All delays are dangerous in war.
JOHN DRYDEN

Dangerous Delay War
There’s a proud modesty in merit; averse from asking, and resolved to pay ten times the gifts it asks.
JOHN DRYDEN

Gift Modesty Proud Time
Long pains, with use of bearing, are half eased.
JOHN DRYDEN

Erase Pain
The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Man Thinking Virtue
The winds are out of breath.
JOHN DRYDEN

Breathe Wind
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
JOHN DRYDEN

Death Fear Known
Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
JOHN DRYDEN

Fight King Mad Man Praise
And plenty makes us poor.
JOHN DRYDEN

Poor
Sure there’s contagion in the tears of friends.
JOHN DRYDEN

Friendship Tears
There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
JOHN DRYDEN

Known Mad Pleasure
Desire of greatness is a godlike sin.
JOHN DRYDEN

Desire God Greatness Sin
Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
JOHN DRYDEN

Race Run Swift Time

And plenty makes us poor.

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And plenty makes us poor.

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