Poems by John Henry Dryden | Poetree

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Dreams

Dreams

Dreams are but interludes which Fancy makes;

When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes:

Compounds a medley of disjointed things,

A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings:

Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad;

Both are the reasonable soul run mad;

And many monstrous forms in sleep we see,

That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be.

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by John Henry Dryden

Mac Flecknoe: A Satire upon the True-blue Protestant Poet T

Mac Flecknoe: A Satire upon the True-blue Protestant Poet T

All human things are subject to decay,

And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey:

This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young

Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long:

In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute

Through all the realms of Non-sense, absolute.

This aged prince now flourishing in peace,

And blest with issue of a large increase,

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by John Henry Dryden