John Dryden

"Our sailing ships like common-sewers we use, And through our distant colonies diffuse The draught of dungeons, and the stench of stews; Whom, when their home-bred honesty is lost, We disembogue on some far Indian coast, Thieves, pandars, palliards, sins of every sort; Those are the manufactures we export."

"In thriving arts long time had Holland grown, Crouching at home and cruel when abroad: Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own; Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow, Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost: Thither the wealth of all the world did go, And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast.For them alone the heavens had kindly heat; In eastern quarries ripening precious dew: For them the Idumæan balm did sweat, And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew.The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year; Each waxing moon supplied her watery store, To swell those tides, which from the line did bear Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore."

"In thriving arts long time had Holland grown, Crouching at home and cruel when abroad: Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own; Our King they courted, and our merchants awed. * * * * * Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long, And swept the riches of the world from far; Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong: And this may prove our second Punic war.What peace can be, where both to one pretend? (But they more diligent, and we more strong) Or if a peace, it soon must have an end; For they would grow too powerful, were it long."

"The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as he, But whiten'd with the foam of sanctity, With fat pollutions fill'd the sacred place, And mountains levell'd in his furious race; So first rebellion founded was in grace."

"Beasts are the subjects of tyrannic sway, Where still the stronger on the weaker prey; Man only of a softer mold is made, Not for his fellows' ruin, but their aid."

"Όφις ην μη φάγη όφιν, δράκων ου γενήσεται."

"Those who to empire by dark paths aspire, Still plead a call to what they most desire."

"Bid the laborious hind, Whose harden’d hands did long in tillage toil, Neglect the promised harvest of the soil."

"One world sufficed not Alexander’s mind; Coop’d up he seem’d, in earth and seas confined."

"Uneasy still within these narrow bounds, Thy next design is on thy neighbour’s grounds: His crop invites, to full perfection grown; Thy own seems thin, because it is thy own."

"Root up wild olives from thy labour’d lands."

"Let thy hand supply the pruning-knife, And crop luxuriant stragglers."

"While the reaper fills his greedy hands, And binds the golden sheaves in brittle bands."

"Some through ambition, or through thirst of gold, Have slain their brothers, and their country sold."

"Give me, ye gods, the product of one field, That so I neither may be rich nor poor; And haying just enough, not covet more."

"T’ unload the branches, or the leaves to thin That suck the vital moisture of the vine."

"But various are the ways to change the state, To plant, to bud, to graft, to inoculate."

"Where the vales with violets once were crown’d, Now knotty burs and thorns disgrace the ground."

"Let Araby extol her happy coast, Her fragrant flow’rs, her trees with precious tears, Her second harvests."

"To dress the vines new labour is required, Nor must the painful husbandman be tired."

"The peaceful peasant to the wars is prest, The fields lie fallow in inglorious rest."

"Rocks lie cover’d with eternal snow; Thin herbage in the plains, and fruitless fields."

"In vain the barns expect their promised load; Nor barns at home, nor ricks are heap’d abroad."

"Ah that your business had been mine, To pen the sheep."

"Nor is the profit small the peasant makes, Who smooths with harrow, or who pounds with rakes, The crumbling clods."

"Be mindful With iron teeth of rakes and prongs to move The crusted earth."

"The wiser madman did for virtue toil A thorny, or at least a barren, soil."

"Here the marshy grounds approach your fields, And there the soil a stony harvest yields."

"Did we for these barbarians plant and sow, On these, on these our happy fields bestow?"

"If your care to wheat alone extend, Let Maia with her sisters first descend, Before you trust in earth your future hope, Or else expect a listless, lazy crop."

"The peasant, innocent of all these ills, With crooked ploughs the fertile fallow tills, And the round year with daily labour fills."

"And oft whole sheets descend of sluicy rain, Suck’d by the spungy clouds from off the main: The lofty skies at once come pouring down, The promised crop and golden labours drown."

"When continued rain The lab’ring husband in his house restrain, Let him forecast his work with timely care, Which else is huddled when the skies are fair."

"She took the coleworts which her husband got From his own ground (a small well-water’d spot); She stripp’d the stalks of all their leaves; the best She cull’d, and then with handy care she dress’d."

"Begin when the slow waggoner descends, Nor cease your sowing till midwinter ends."

"For sundry foes the rural realm surround; The field-mouse builds her garner under ground: For gather’d grain the blind laborious mole, In winding mazes, works her hidden hole."

"Most have found A husky harvest from the grudging ground."

"For flax and oats will burn the tender field, And sleepy poppies harmful harvests yield."

"Thou hop’st with sacrifice of oxen slain To compass wealth, and bribe the god of gain To give thee flocks and herds, with large increase; Fool! to expect them from a bullock’s grease."

"Apollo check’d my pride, and bade me feed My fatt’ning flocks, nor dare beyond the reed."

"Suffering not the yellow beards to rear, He tramples down the spikes, and intercepts the ear."

"Ev’n when they sing at ease in full content, Insulting o’er the toil they underwent, Yet still they find a future task remain, To turn the soil."

"All was common, and the fruitful earth Was free to give her unexacted birth."

"Their morning milk the peasants press at night; Their evening milk before the rising light."

"Where the tender rinds of trees disclose Their shooting germs, a swelling knot there grows; Just in that place a narrow slit we make, Then other buds from bearing trees we take; Inserted thus, the wounded rind we close."

"Your farm requites your pains, Though rushes overspread the neighb’ring plains."

"The soil, with fatt’ning moisture fill’d, Is clothed with grass, and fruitful to be till’d; Such as in fruitful vales we view from high, Which dripping rocks, not rowling streams supply."

"First, with assiduous care from winter keep, Well fother’d in the stalls, thy tender sheep; Then spread with straw the bedding of thy fold, With fern beneath, to fend the bitter cold."

"At harvest-home, and on the shearing day, When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay."

"We may know And when to reap the grain and when to sow, Or when to fell the furzes."