Who is Thomas Otway

Thomas Otway (3 March 1652 – 14 April 1685) was an English dramatist of the Restoration period, best known for Venice Preserv'd, or A Plot Discover'd (1682).

Life

Otway was born at Trotton near Midhurst, the parish of which his father, Humphrey Otway, was at that time curate. Humphrey later became rector of Woolbeding, a neighbouring parish, where Thomas Otway was brought up and expected to commit to priesthood. He was educated at Winchester College, and in 1669 entered Christ Church, Oxford, as a commoner, but left the university without a degree in the autumn of 1672. At Oxford he made the acquaintance of Anthony Cary, 5th Viscount Falkland, through whom, he says in the dedication to Caius Marius, he first learned to love books. In London he made acquaintance w...
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Thomas Otway Poems

  • The Enchantment
    I did but look and love awhile,
    'Twas but for one half-hour;
    Then to resist I had no will,
    And now I have no power....
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Top 10 most used topics by Thomas Otway

Heart 1 Love 1 Power 1 I Love You 1 Ice 1 Corner 1 Warm 1


Thomas Otway Quotes

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Comments about Thomas Otway

Maccocktail: "honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten." ― thomas otway (born march 3, 1652)
Artsalamode: "honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten." "who's a prince or beggar in the grave?" thomas otway
Maccocktail: "love reigns a very tyrant in my heart." ― thomas otway (born this day, march 3, 1652)
Artsalamode: born 3/3: artists alexander-gabriel decamps, arnold newman, asger jorn, writers thomas otway, william godwin, edward thomas, yury karlovich olesha, james merrill, patricia maclachlin, musicians barney bigard,jimmy garrison, doc watson,buzzy linhart, camila cabello, renee spearman
Himala28: “if we must part forever, give me but one kind word to think upon, and please myself with, while my heart’s breaking.” – thomas otway
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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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