Abhorred Styx, the Flood of deadly Hate,
Sad Acheron of Sorrow, black and deep,
Cocytus nam'd, of Lamentation loud
Heard on her rueful Stream. Fierce Phlegeton,
Whose Waves of torrent Fire inflame with Rage.
Far off from these a flow and silent Stream
Lethe the River of Oblivion rolls;
Which
Medusa with Gorgonian Terror guards.
It has been hinted elsewhere, that 'tis ungenerous to criticise on Dryden's Conduct and Sentiments, which 'tis plain he varied at Pleasure, and wrote like a great Original, whose Example was to be a Rule to others, and himself to take Rules from none; but it is not true, as we read in the above-cited Guardian, That his very Faults have more Beauty in them, than the most elaborate Compositions of many more correct Writers: For I will repeat some few Lines that are monstrous, and then let the Reader judge how they can be beautiful.
'Tis false, she is not ill, nor can she be;
She must be chaste, because she's lov'd by me.
————I'll squeeze thee like a Bladder,
Or make thee groan thy self away in Air.
She who dares love, and for that Love dares die,
And knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.
Good Heaven thy Book of Fate before me lay,
But to tear out the Journal of this Day.
But take what Friends, what Armies thou canst bring,
What Worlds, and when you are united All,
Then I will thunder in your Ears; she shall.
————Fight, love, despair;
And I can do all this, because I dare.