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What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.

-Alexander Pope

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What Nature Wants, Commodious

Alexander Pope

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What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.

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While Man Exclaims, "see All Things For My Use!" "see Man For Mine!" Replies A Pamper'd Goose.

The Laughers Are A Majority.

Who Shall Decide When Doctors Disagree, And Soundest Casuists Doubt, Like You And Me?

With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught; With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought.

When I Die, I Should Be Ashamed To Leave Enough To Build Me A Monument If There Were A Wanting Friend Above Ground. I Would Enjoy The Pleasure Of What I Give By Giving It Alive And Seeing Another Enjoy It.

Where'er You Walk Cool Gales Shall Fan The Glade, Trees Where You Sit Shall Crowd Into A Shade. Where'er You Tread The Blushing Flowers Shall Rise, And All Things Flourish Where You Turn Your Eyes.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

It Is Not So Much The Being Exempt From Faults, As Having Overcome Them, That Is An Advantage To Us.

The Spider's Touch, How Exquisitely Fine! Feels At Each Thread, And Lives Along The Line.

Teach Me To Feel Another's Woe, To Hide The Fault I See, That Mercy I To Others Show, That Mercy Show To Me.

Tis Strange The Miser Should His Cares Employto Gain Those Riches He Can Ne'er Enjoy;is It Less Strange The Prodigal Should Wastehis Wealth To Purchase What He Ne'er Can Taste?

To Rest, The Cushion And Soft Dean Invite, Who Never Mentions Hell To Ears Polite.

Nothing Is More Certain Than Much Of The Force; As Well As Grace, Of Arguments Or Instructions Depends Their Conciseness.

At Ev'ry Word A Reputation Dies.

Good-humor Only Teaches Charms To Last, Still Makes New Conquests And Maintains The Past.

That Each From Other Differs, First Confess; Next That He Varies From Himself No Less.

When Two People Compliment Each Other With The Choice Of Anything, Each Of Them Generally Gets That Which He Likes Least.

Envy Will Merit, As Its Shade, Pursue

There Is No Study That Is Not Capable Of Delighting Us After A Little Application To It.

Giving Advice Is Many Times Only The Privilege Of Saying A Foolish Thing One's Self, Under The Pretense Of Hindering Another From Doing One.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be.

Oh! Be Thou Blest With All That Heaven Can Send, Long Health, Long Youth, Long Pleasure-and A Friend.

Ye Gods, Annihilate But Space And Time, And Make Two Lovers Happy.

Talk What You Will Of Taste, My Friend, You'll Find Two Of A Face As Soon As Of A Mind.

The Dying Christian To His Soul (1712) -vital Spark Of Heav'nly Flame! Quit, Oh Quit, This Mortal Frame: Trembling, Hoping, Ling'ring, Flying, Oh The Pain, The Bliss Of Dying! Stanza 1.

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

Every Man Has Just As Much Vanity As He Wants Understanding.

Is That A Birthday? 'tis, Alas! Too Clear; 'tis But The Funeral Of The Former Year.

Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

For What I Have Publish'd, I Can Only Hope To Be Pardon'd; But For What I Have Burned, I Deserve To Be Prais'd.

Know Then Thyself, Presume Not God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

All Nature Mourns, The Skies Relent In Showers; Hushed Are The Birds, And Closed The Drooping Flowers.

And Soften'd Sounds Along The Waters Die: Smooth Flow The Waves, The Zephyrs Gently Play.

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.

Is There No Bright Reversion In The Sky, For Those Who Greatly Think Or Bravely Die?

He Who Serves His Brother Best Gets Nearer God Than All The Rest.

That Virtue Only Makes Our Bliss Below, And All Our Knowledge Is Ourselves To Know.

Education Forms The Common Mind.

There Still Remains To Mortify A Wit The Many-headed Monster Of The Pit.

Careless Of Censure, Nor Too Fond Of Fame, Still Pleased To Praise, Yet Not Afraid To Blame, Averse Alike To Flatter Or Offend, Not Free From Faults, Nor Yet Too Vain To Mend.

Reason's Whole Pleasure, All The Joys Of Sense, Lie In Three Words,-health, Peace, And Competence.

Tis From High Life High Characters Are Drawn; A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn: A Judge Is Just, A Chanc'llor Juster Still; A Gownman Learn'd; A Bishop What You Will; Wise If A Minister; But If A King, More Wise, More Learn'd, More Just, More Ev'rything.

Sometimes Virtue Starves While Vice Is Fed.

One Thought Of Thee Puts All The Pomp To Flight; Priests, Tapers, Temples, Swim Before My Sight.

An Atheist Is But A Mad, Ridiculous Derider Of Piety, But A Hypocrite Makes A Sober Jest Of God And Religion; He Finds It Easier To Be Upon His Knees Than To Rise To A Good Action.

Some Place The Bliss In Action, Some In Ease, Those Call It Pleasure, And Contentment These.

Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense.

Court-virtues Bear, Like Gems, The Highest Rate, Born Where Heav'n Influence Scarce Can Penetrate. In Life's Low Vale, The Soil The Virtues Like, They Please As Beauties, Here As Wonders Strike.

What Bosom Beast Not In His Country's Cause?

Be Thou The First True Merit To Befriend, His Praise Is Lost Who Stays Till All Commend.

But Touch Me, And No Minister So Sore. Whoe'er Offends, At Some Unlucky Time Slides Into Verse, And Hitches In A Rhyme, Sacred To Ridicule His Whole Life Long, And The Sad Burthen Of Some Merry Song.

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.

Mark What Unvary'd Laws Preserve Each State, Laws Wise As Nature, And As Fixed As Fate.

Love Finds An Altar For Forbidden Fires.

A Disputant No More Cares For The Truth Than The Sportsman For The Hare.

At Length Corruption, Like A General Flood (so Long By Watchful Ministers Withstood), Shall Deluge All; And Avarice, Creeping On, Spread Like A Low-born Mist, And Blot The Sun.

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

A Person Who Is Too Nice An Observer Of The Business Of The Crowd, Like One Who Is Too Curious In Observing The Labor Of Bees, Will Often Be Stung For His Curiosity.

Pleasures Are Ever In Our Hands Or Eyes; And When In Act They Cease, In Prospect Rise.

Then From The Mint Walks Forth The Man Of Rhyme, Happy To Catch Me, Just At Dinner-time.

True Ease In Writing Comes From Art, Not Chance, As Those Move Easiest Who Have Learned To Dance.

For I, Who Hold Sage Homer's Rule The Best, Welcome The Coming, Speed The Going Guest.

And Bear About The Mockery Of Woe To Midnight Dances And The Public Show.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

In Pride, In Reas'ning Pride, Our Error Lies; All Quit Their Sphere And Rush Into The Skies. Pride Still Is Aiming At The Bless'd Abodes, Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods.

Speed The Soft Intercourse From Soul To Soul, And Waft A Sigh From Indus To The Pole.

Statesman, Yet Friend To Truth! Of Soul Sincere, In Action Faithful, And In Honour Clear; Who Broke No Promise, Serv'd No Private End, Who Gain'd No Title, And Who Lost No Friend.

Consult The Genius Of The Place, That Paints As You Plant, And As You Work.

Choose A Firm Cloud Before It Fall, And In It Catch, Ere She Change, The Cynthia Of This Minute.

But See, The Shepherds Shun The Noonday Heat, The Lowing Herds To Murmuring Brooks Retreat, To Closer Shades The Panting Flocks Remove; Ye Gods! And Is There No Relief For Love?

The Doubtful Beam Long Nods From Side To Side.

Fine Sense And Exalted Sense Are Not Half So Useful As Common Sense. There Are Forty Men Of Wit For One Man Of Sense; And He That Will Carry Nothing About Him But Gold, Will Be Every Day At A Loss For Want Of Readier Change.

Great Oaks Grow From Little Acorns. He Has A Green Thumb. He Has Green Fingers. He's Sowing His Wild Oats. Here Ceres' Gifts In Waving Prospect Stand, And Nodding Tempt The Joyful Reaper's Hand.

What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.

Pleasure, Or Wrong Or Rightly Understood, Our Greatest Evil, Or Our Greatest Good.

Know, Nature's Children All Divide Her Care, The Fur That Warms A Monarch Warmed A Bear.

Chiefs Who No More In Bloody Fights Engage, But Wise Through Time, And Narrative With Age, In Summer-days Like Grasshoppers Rejoice - A Bloodless Race, That Send A Feeble Voice.

Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

Judges And Senates Have Been Bought For Gold; Esteem And Love Were Never To Be Sold.

Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing.

Man Never Thinks Himself Happy, But When He Enjoys Those Things Which Others Want Or Desire.

Man, Like The Generous Vine, Supported Lives; The Strength He Gains Is From The Embrace He Gives.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

What Then Remains, But Well Our Power To Use, And Keep Good-humor Still Whate'er We Lose? And Trust Me, Dear, Good-humor Can Prevail, When Airs, And Flights, And Screams, And Scolding Fail.

The Only Time You Run Out Of Chances Is When You Stop Taking Them

Whenever I Find A Great Deal Of Gratitude In A Poor Man, I Take It For Granted There Would Be As Much Generosity If He Were A Rich Man.

Horses (thou Say'st) And Asses Men May Try, And Ring Suspected Vessels Ere They Buy; But Wives, A Random Choice, Untried They Take; They Dream In Courtship, But In Wedlock Wake; Then, Nor Till Then, The Veil's Removed Away, And All The Woman Glares In Open Day.

I Never Knew Any Man In My Life Who Could Not Bear Another's Misfortunes Perfectly Like A Christian.

What Riches Give Us Let Us Then Inquire: Meat, Fire, And Clothes. What More? Meat, Clothes, And Fire. Is This Too Little?

Heaven Breathes Thro' Ev'ry Member Of The Whole One Common Blessing, As One Common Soul.

Others Import Yet Nobler Arts From France, Teach Kings To Fiddle, And Make Senates Dance.

Our Grandsire, Adam, Ere Of Eve Possesst, Alone, And E'en In Paradise Unblest, With Mournful Looks The Blissful Scenes Survey'd, And Wander'd In The Solitary Shade. The Maker Say, Took Pity, And Bestow'd Woman, The Last, The Best Reserv'd Of God.

Some Judge Of Authors' Names, Not Works, And Then Nor Praise Nor Blame The Writings, But The Men.

The Lot Of Man - To Suffer And To Die.

Of All Affliction Taught A Lover Yet, 'tis True The Hardest Science To Forget.

'tis Not Enough Your Counsel Still Be True; Blunt Truths More Mischief Than Nice Falsehoods Do.

In Death A Hero, As In Life A Friend!

A Fly, A Grape-stone, Or A Hair Can Kill.

Unblemish'd Let Me Live Or Die Unknown; Oh, Grant An Honest Fame, Or Grant Me None!

What Dire Offence From Am'rous Causes Springs, What Mighty Contests Rise From Trivial Things.

If A Man's Character Is To Be Abused There's Nobody Like A Relative To Do The Business.

Envy, To Which Th' Ignoble Mind's A Slave, Is Emulation In The Learn'd Or Brave.

I Believe It Is No Wrong Observation, That Persons Of Genius, And Those Who Are Most Capable Of Art, Are Always Fond Of Nature, As Such Are Chiefly Sensible, That All Art Consists In The Imitation And Study Of Nature. On The Contrary, People Of The Common Level Of Understanding Are Principally Delighted With The Little Niceties And Fantastical Operations Of Art, And Constantly Think That Finest Which Is Least Natural.

Ask For What End The Heavenly Bodies Shine, Earth For Whose Use? Pride Answers, 'tis For Mine For Me Kind Nature Wakes Her Genial Power, Suckles Each Herb, And Spreads Out Every Flower.

Who Builds A Church To God And Not To Fame, Will Never Mark The Marble With His Name.

How Shall I Lose The Sin, Yet Keep The Sense, And Love The Offender, Yet Detest The Offence?

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

Wit In Conversation Is Only A Readiness Of Thought And A Facility Of Expression, Or A Quick Conception And An Easy Delivery.

A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast: Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest.

Let Joy Or Ease, Let Affluence Or Content, And The Gay Conscience Of A Life Well Spent, Calm Ev'ry Thought, Inspirit Ev'ry Grace, Glow In Thy Heart, And Smile Upon Thy Face.

Whatever Is, Is Right.

Trust Not Yourself, But Your Defects To Know, Make Use Of Every Friend And Every Foe.

A Pear-tree Planted Nigh: 'twas Charg'd With Fruit That Made A Goodly Show, And Hung With Dangling Pears Was Every Bough.

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

We Think Our Fathers Fools, So Wise We Grow. Our Wiser Sons, No Doubt Will Think Us So.

The Learned Is Happy, Nature To Explore; The Fool Is Happy, That He Knows No More.

But Honest Instinct Comes A Volunteer; Sure Never To O'er-shoot, But Just To Hit, While Still Too Wide Or Short In Human Wit.

Thus Let Me Live, Unseen, Unknown, Thus Unlamented Let Me Die, Steal From The World, And Not A Stone Tell Where I Lie.

Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

Dulness! Whose Good Old Cause I Yet Defend, With Whom My Muse Began, With Who Shall End.

Genuine Religion Is Not So Much A Matter Of Feeling As A Matter Of Principle.

All Seems Infected That Th' Infected Spy, As All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye.

I Would Not Be Like Those Authors, Who Forgive Themselves Some Particular Lines For The Sake Of A Whole Poem, And Vice Versa A Whole Poem For The Sake Of Some Particular Lines. I Believe No One Qualification Is So Likely To Make A Good Writer, As The Power Of Rejecting His Own Thoughts.

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

No Louder Shrieks To Pitying Heaven Are Cast, When Husbands Or Lap-dogs Breathe Their Last.

If, Presume Not To God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man. Plac'd On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise, And Rudely Great.

Most Authors Steal Their Works, Or Buy.

"with Ev'ry Pleasing, Ev'ry Prudent Part, Say, What Can Chloe Want?"-she Wants A Heart.

To Be, Contents His Natural Desire, He Asks No Angel's Wing, No Seraph's Fire; But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company. Go Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

First Follow Nature, And Your Judgment Frame By Her Just Standard, Which Is Still The Same: Unerring Nature, Still Divinely Bright, One Clear, Unchanged, And Universal Light, Life, Force, And Beauty Must To All Impart, At Once The Source, And End, And Test Of Art.

The Worst Of Madmen Is A Saint Run Mad.

Charm Strikes The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Of Little Use, The Man You May Suppose, Who Says In Verse What Others Say In Prose; Yet Let Me Show A Poet's Of Some Weight, And (though No Soldier) Useful To The State, What Will A Child Learn Sooner Than A Song? What Better Teach A Foreigner The Tongue? What's Long Or Short, Each Accent Where To Place And Speak In Public With Some Sort Of Grace?

Ye Flowers That Drop, Forsaken By The Spring, Ye Birds That, Left By Summer, Cease To Sing, Ye Trees That Fade, When Autumn Heats Remove, Say, Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Fondly We Think We Honor Merit Then, When We But Praise Ourselves In Other Men.

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.

Our Plenteous Streams A Various Race Supply, The Bright-eyed Perch With Fins Of Tyrian Dye, The Silver Eel, In Shining Volumes Roll'd, The Yellow Carp, In Scales Bedropp'd With Gold, Swift Trouts, Diversified With Crimson Stains, And Pikes, The Tyrants Of The Wat'ry Plains.

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

No, Make Me Mistress To The Man I Love; If There Be Yet Another Name More Free More Fond Than Mistress, Make Me That To Thee!

Heaven Forming Each On Other To Depend, A Master, Or A Servant, Or A Friend, Bids Each On Other For Assistance Call, Till One Man's Weakness Grows The Strength Of All.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

Plays Round The Head, But Comes Not To The Heart. One Self-approving Hour Whole Years Outweighs Of Stupid Starers And Of Loud Huzzas; And More True Joy Marcellus Exil'd Feels Than Cæsar With A Senate At His Heels. In Parts Superior What Advantage Lies? Tell (for You Can) What Is It To Be Wise? 't Is But To Know How Little Can Be Known; To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

The Hungry Judges Soon The Sentence Sign, And Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

To Him No High, No Low, No Great, No Small; He Fills, He Bounds, Connects And Equals All!

But Satan Now Is Wiser Than Of Yore, And Tempts By Making Rich, Not Making Poor.

Love Seldom Haunts The Breast Where Learning Lies, And Venus Sets Ere Mercury Can Rise.

For Lo! The Board With Cups And Spoons Is Crowned.the Berries Crackle, And The Mill Turns Round ... At Once They Gratify Their Scent And Taste.and Frequent Cups Prolong The Rich Repast... Coffee (which Makes The Politician Wise And See Through All Things With His Half-shut Eyes).

Let Such Teach Others Who Themselves Excel, And Censure Freely Who Have Written Well.

Who Combats Bravely Is Not Therefore Brave, He Dreads A Death-bed Like The Meanest Slave: Who Reasons Wisely Is Not Therefore Wise,- His Pride In Reasoning, Not In Acting Lies.

Poets Heap Virtues, Painters Gems, At Will, And Show Their Zeal, And Hide Their Want Of Skill.

Thus Unlamented Pass The Proud Away, The Gaze Of Fools And Pageant Of A Day; So Perish All, Whose Breast Ne'er Learn'd To Glow For Others' Good, Or Melt At Others' Woe.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.

Thou Wert My Guide, Philosopher, And Friend.

Do You Find Yourself Making Excuses When You Do Not Perform? Shed The Excuses And Face Reality. Excuses Are The Loser's Way Out. They Will Mar Your Credibility And Stunt Your Personal Growth.

Finding Yourself

These Riches Are Possess'd, But Not Enjoy'd!

Wise Wretch! With Pleasures Too Refined To Please, With Too Much Spirit To Be E'er At Ease, With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught, With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought: You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give, And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

Oh, Sons Of Earth! Attempt Ye Still To Rise. By Mountains Pil'd On Mountains To The Skies? Heav'n Still With Laughter The Vain Toil Surveys, And Buries Madmen In The Heaps They Raise.

I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

Of All The Causes Which Conspire To Blind Man's Erring Judgement, And Misguide The Mind, What The Weak Head With Strongest Bias Rules, Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.

Mankind Is Unamendable.

No More Was Seen The Human Form Divine.

Let Fortune Do Her Worst, Whatever She Makes Us Lose, So Long As She Never Makes Us Lose Our Honesty And Our Independence.

Tis True, 'tis Certain; Man, Though Dead, Retains Part Of Himself; The Immortal Mind Remains.

Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate And Rot.

True Self-love And Social Are The Same.

Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife.

Who Dare To Love Their Country, And Be Poor.

Passions Are The Gales Of Life.

Cursed Be The Verse, How Well So E'er It Flow, That Tends To Make One Worthy Man My Foe.

O Happiness! Our Being's End And Aim! Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content! Whate'er Thy Name: That Something Still Which Prompts The Eternal Sigh, For Which We Bear To Live, Or Dare To Die.

There Are Certain Times When Most People Are In A Disposition Of Being Informed, And 'tis Incredible What A Vast Good A Little Truth Might Do, Spoken In Such Seasons.

Learn To Live Well, Or Fairly Make Your Will; You've Play'd, And Lov'd, And Ate, And Drank Your Fill: Walk Sober Off, Before A Sprightlier Age Comes Titt'ring On, And Shoves You From The Stage.

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

Search Then The Ruling Passion; There Alone, The Wild Are Constant, And The Cunning Known; The Fool Consistent, And The False Sincere; Priests, Princes, Women, No Dissemblers Here.

Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

Learn Of The Little Nautilus To Sail, Spread The Thin Oar, And Catch The Driving Gale.

Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit, For Works May Have More With Than Does 'em Good, As Bodies Perish Through Excess Of Blood.

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

There Various News I Heard Of Love And Strife,of Peace And War, Health, Sickness, Death, And Life,of Loss And Gain, Of Famine And Of Store,of Storms At Sea, And Travels On The Shore,of Prodigies, And Portents Seen In Air,of Fires And Plagues, And Stars With Blazing Hair,of Turns Of Fortune, Changes In The State,the Fall Of Favourites, Projects Of The Great,of Aid Mismanagements, Taxations New:all Neither Wholly False, Nor Wholly True.

The Right Divine Of Kings To Govern Wrong.

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

Thus God And Nature Linked The Gen'ral Frame, And Bade Self-love And Social Be The Same.

You Eat, In Dreams, The Custard Of The Day.

Some Positive Persisting Fops We Know, Who, If Once Wrong, Will Needs Be Always So; But You With Pleasure Own Your Errors Past, And Make Each Day A Critique On The Last.

Amusement Is The Happiness Of Those Who Cannot Think.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise And Rudely Great... He Hangs Between; In Doubt To Act Or Rest; In Doubt To Deem Himself A God, Or Beast; In Doubt His Mind Or Body To Prefer; Born To Die, And Reasoning But To Err.

That Character In Conversation Which Commonly Passes For Agreeable Is Made Up Of Civility And Falsehood.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows, And The Smooth Stream In Smoother Numbers Flows; But When Loud Surges Lash The Sounding Shore, The Hoarse Rough Verse Should Like The Torrent Roar. When Ajax Strives Some Rock's Vast Weight To Throw, The Line Too Labours, And The Words Move Slow: Not So When Swift Camilla Scours The Plain, Flies O'er Th' Unbending Corn, And Skims Along The Main.

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

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