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

— John Dryden Disputed Poetical Quotations from Chaucer to Tennyson (1880)

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More quotes by John Dryden

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear
To be we know not what, we know not where.

Aureng-Zebe (1676)

Whate’er he did, was done with so much ease,
In him alone 'twas natural to please.

Absalom and Achitophel (1681)

Love conquers all, and we must yield to Love.

The Works of Virgil (1697)

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day (1687)

Whatever is, is in its causes just.

Œdipus (1679)

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Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: John Dryden (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.