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What So Pure, Which Envious Tongues Will Spare? Some Wicked Wits Have Libell'd All The Fair, With Matchless Impudence They Style A Wife, The Dear-bought Curse, And Lawful Plague Of Life; A Bosom Serpent, A Domestic Evil, A Night Invasion, And A Mid-day Devil; Let Not The Wise These Sland'rous Words Regard, But Curse The Bones Of Ev'ry Living Bard.

-Alexander Pope

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What So Pure, Which

Alexander Pope

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What So Pure, Which Envious Tongues Will Spare? Some Wicked Wits Have Libell'd All The Fair, With Matchless Impudence They Style A Wife, The Dear-bought Curse, And Lawful Plague Of Life; A Bosom Serpent, A Domestic Evil, A Night Invasion, And A Mid-day Devil; Let Not The Wise These Sland'rous Words Regard, But Curse The Bones Of Ev'ry Living Bard.

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

The Enormous Faith Of Many Made For One.

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.

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

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.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit, There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It

The World Is A Thing We Must Of Necessity Either Laugh At Or Be Angry At; If We Laugh At It, They Say We Are Proud; If We Are Angry At It, They Say We Are Ill-natured.

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

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

For He Lives Twice Who Can At Once Employ, The Present Well, And E'en The Past Enjoy.

Time Management

The Way Of The Creative Works Through Change And Transformation, So That Each Thing Receives Its True Nature And Destiny And Comes Into Permanent Accord With The Great Harmony: This Is What Furthers And What Perseveres.

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.

Sickness Is A Sort Of Early Old Age; It Teaches Us A Diffidence In Our Earthly State.

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

No Woman Ever Hates A Man For Being In Love With Her, But Many A Woman Hate A Man For Being A Friend To Her.

There Are Some Solitary Wretches Who Seem To Have Left The Rest Of Mankind, Only, As Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

Love Finds An Altar For Forbidden Fires.

Some Men's Wit Is Like A Dark Lantern, Which Serves Their Own Turn And Guides Them Their Own Way, But Is Never Known (according To The Scripture Phrase) Either To Shine Forth Before Men, Or To Glorify Their Father In Heaven.

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.

On Her White Breast A Sparkling Cross She Wore, Which Jews Might Kiss And Infidels Adore.

The Right Divine Of Kings To Govern Wrong.

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

On Cold December Fragrant Chaplets Blow, And Heavy Harvests Nod Beneath The Snow.

Lo! The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way.

All Other Goods By Fortune's Hand Are Given, A Wife Is The Peculiar Gift Of Heaven.

Sleep And Death, Two Twins Of Winged Race, Of Matchless Swiftness, But Of Silent Pace.

The Light Of Heaven Restore; Give Me To See, And Ajax Asks No More.

No Craving Void Left Aching In The Soul.

True Disputants Are Like True Sportsmen: Their Whole Delight Is In The Pursuit.

Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

Know Then, Unnumber'd Spirits Round Thee Fly, The Light Militia Of The Lower Sky.

This Long Disease, My Life.

But See, Orion Sheds Unwholesome Dews; Arise, The Pines A Noxious Shade Diffuse; Sharp Boreas Blows, And Nature Feels Decay, Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

Mankind Is Unamendable.

The Difference Is As Great Between The Optics Seeing As The Objects Seen. All Manners Take A Tincture From Our Own; Or Come Discolor'd Through Out Passions Shown; Or Fancy's Beam Enlarges, Multiplies, Contracts, Inverts, And Gives Ten Thousand Dyes.

Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

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

With The Mistake Your Life Goes In Reverse. Now You Can See Exactly What You Did Wrong Yesterday And Wrong The Day Before And Each Mistake Leads Back To Something Worse.

Our Passions Are Like Convulsion Fits, Which, Though They Make Us Stronger For A Time, Leave Us The Weaker Ever After.

See! From The Brake The Whirring Pheasant Springs, And Mounts Exulting On Triumphant Wings; Short Is His Joy! He Feels The Fiery Wound, Flutters In Blood, And Panting Beats The Ground.

Like Following Life Through Creatures You Dissect, You Lose It In The Moment You Detect.

Our Judgments, Like Our Watches, None Go Just Alike, Yet Each Believes His Own

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

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous.

Calm, Thinking Villains, Whom No Faith Could Fix, Of Crooked Counsels And Dark Politics.

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

Search Then The Ruling Passion: This Clue, Once Found, Unravels All The Rest.

A Patriot Is A Fool In Ev'ry Age.

All Nature's Diff'rence Keeps All Nature's Peace.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

Who Know But He, Whose Hand The Lightning Forms, Who Heaves Old Ocean, And Who Wings The Storms, Pours Fierce Ambition In A Caesar's Mind.

Fame, Wealth, And Honour! What Are You To Love?

New, Distant Scenes Of Endless Science Rise: So Pleas'd At First, The Towring Alps We Try.

Fair Tresses Man's Imperial Race Ensnare; And Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.

When To The Permanent Is Sacrificed The Mutable, The Prize Is Thine: The Drop Returneth Whence It Came. The Open Path Leads To The Changeless Change - Non-being, The Glorious State Of Absoluteness, The Bliss Past Human Thought.

Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance By Rogues In Ruffles.

Who Ne'er Knew Joy But Friendship Might Divide,or Gave His Father Grief But When He Died.

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

How Instinct Varies In The Grov'ling Swine.

There Never Was Any Party, Faction, Sect, Or Cabal Whatsoever, In Which The Most Ignorant Were Not The Most Violent; For A Bee Is Not A Busier Animal Than A Blockhead.

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.

The Most Positive Men Are The Most Credulous, Since They Most Believe Themselves, And Advise Most With Their Falsest Flatterer And Worst Enemy--their Own Self-love.

Where Beams Of Imagination Play, The Memory's Soft Figures Melt Away.

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

Nature Made Every Fop To Plague His Brother, Just As One Beauty Mortifies Another.

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

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.

The Greatest Magnifying Glasses In The World Are A Man's Own Eyes When They Look Upon His Own Person.

Behold The Groves That Shine With Silver Frost, Their Beauty Withered, And Their Verdure Lost!

The Pure And Noble, The Graceful And Dignified, Simplicity Of Language Is Nowhere In Such Perfection As In The Scriptures And Homer. The Whole Book Of Job, With Regard Both To Sublimity Of Thought And Morality, Exceeds, Beyond All Comparison, The Most Noble Parts Of Homer.

A Man Who Admires A Fine Woman, Has Yet Not More Reason To Wish Himself Her Husband, Than One Who Admired The Hesperian Fruit, Would Have Had To Wish Himself The Dragon That Kept It.

What Is It To Be Wise? 'tis But To Know How Little Can Be Known, To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

Learn From The Birds What Food The Thickets Yield; Learn From The Beasts The Physic Of The Field; The Arts Of Building From The Bee Receive; Learn Of The Mole To Plow, The Worm To Weave.

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

To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor Wise.

Lo! The Poor Indian, Whose Untutored Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind.

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

The Laughers Are A Majority.

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

Nor Fame I Slight, Nor Her Favors Call.

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.

Those Move Easiest Who Have Learn'd To Dance.

I Was Not Born For Courts And Great Affairs, But I Pay My Debts, Believe And Say My Prayers.

True Self-love And Social Are The Same.

Our Rural Ancestors, With Little Blest, Patient Of Labor When The End Was Rest, Indulged The Day That Housed Their Annual Grain, With Feasts, And Off'rings, And A Thankful Strain.

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

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent, As Half To Show, Half Veil, The Deep Intent.

I Believe No One Qualification Is So Likely To Make A Good Writer, As The Power Of Rejecting His Own Thoughts.

But Blind To Former As To Future Fate, What Mortal Knows His Pre-existent State?

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

Yet Graceful Ease, And Sweetness Void Of Pride, Might Hide Her Faults, If Belles Had Faults To Hide: If To Her Share Some Female Errors Fall, Look On Her Face, And You'll Forget 'em All.

Who Are Next To Knaves? Those That Converse With Them.

The Vanity Of Human Life Is Like A River, Constantly Passing Away, And Yet Constantly Coming On.

See Skulking Truth To Her Old Cavern Fled, Mountains Of Casuistry Heap'd O'er Her Head! Philosophy, That Lean'd On Heav'n Before, Shrinks To Her Second Cause, And Is No More. Physic Of Metaphysic Begs Defence, And Metaphysic Calls For Aid On Sense! See Mystery To Mathematics Fly!

The Young Disease, That Must Subdue At Length, Grows With His Growth, And Strengthens With His Strength.

Reason, However Able, Cool At Best, Cares Not For Service, Or But Serves When Prest, Stays Till We Call, And Then Not Often Near.

And All Who Told It Added Something New, And All Who Heard It, Made Enlargements Too.

Vices And Virtues Are Of A Strange Nature, For The More We Have, The Fewer We Think We Have.

Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

That, Chang'd Thro' All And Yet In All The Same, Great In The Earth As In Th' Ætherial Frame, Warms In The Sun, Refreshes In The Breeze, Glows In The Stars, And Blossoms In The Trees... Breathes In Our Soul, Informs Our Mortal Part... Submit - In This, Or Any Other Sphere, Secure To Be As Blest As Thou Canst Bear. All Nature Is But Art, Unknown To Thee; All Chance, Direction Which Thou Canst Not See; All Discord, Harmony Not Understood... All Partial Evil, Universal Good.

So Man, Who Here Seems Principal Alone, Perhaps Acts Second To Some Sphere Unknown Touches Some Wheel, Or Verges To Some Goal; 'tis But A Part We See, And Not A Whole.

When To Mischief Mortals Bend Their Will, How Soon They Find It Instruments Of Ill.

Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns And Chains.

To Err Is Human; To Forgive, Divine.

Religion Blushing, Veils Her Sacred Fires, And Unawares Morality Expires.

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

Passions Are The Gales Of Life.

Wit And Judgment Often Are At Strife.

To Buy Books As Some Do Who Make No Use Of Them, Only Because They Were Published By An Eminent Printer, Is Much As If A Man Should Buy Clothes That Did Not Fit Him, Only Because They Were Made By Some Famous Tailor.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confess, Some Are And Must Be Greater Than The Rest.

The Time Shall Come, When, Free As Seas Or Wind, Unbounded Thames Shall Flow For All Mankind, Whole Nations Enter With Each Swelling Tide, And Seas But Join The Regions They Divide; Earth's Distant Ends Our Glory Shall Behold, And The New World Launch Forth To Seek The Old.

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

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

Aurora Now, Fair Daughter Of The Dawn, Sprinkled With Rosy Light The Dewy Lawn.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

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

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.

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

From The Moment One Sets Up For An Author, One Must Be Treated As Ceremoniously, That Is As Unfaithfully, "as A King's Favorite Or A King.

See Christians, Jews, One Heavy Sabbath Keep, And All The Western World Believe And Sleep.

There Is Nothing That Is Meritorious But Virtue And Friendship.

Learning Is Like Mercury, One Of The Most Powerful And Excellent Things In The World In Skillful Hands; In Unskillful, The Most Mischievous.

Some Are Bewildered In The Maze Of Schools, And Some Made Coxcombs Nature Meant But Fools.

I Begin Where Most People End, With A Full Conviction Of The Emptiness Of All Sorts Of Ambition, And The Unsatisfactory Nature Of All Human Pleasures.

In Men, We Various Ruling Passions Find; In Women, Two Almost Divide The Kind Those, Only Fixed, They First Or Last Obey, The Love Of Pleasure, And The Love Of Sway.

How Loved, How Honored Once, Avails Thee Not, To Whom Related, Or By Whom Begot A Heap Of Dust Alone Remains Of Thee 'tis All Thou Art, And All The Proud Shall Be!

Soft O'er The Shrouds Aerial Whispers Breathe, That Seemed But Zephyrs To The Train Beneath.

Grave Authors Say, And Witty Poets Sing, That Honest Wedlock Is A Glorious Thing.

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye That Habitually Compares Everything To Something Better. But By Changing That Habit To Comparing Everything To Something Worse, Even Making It A Game, That Person Can Find Gratitude, Relief And Happiness Where-ever They Go And Whatever They Experience, Guaranteed!

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

In Every Work Regard The Writer's End, Since None Can Compass More Than They Intend.

All Are But Parts Of One Stupendous Whole, Whose Body Nature Is, And God The Soul.

A Perfect Judge Will Read Each Word Of Wit With The Same Spirit That Its Author Writ.

Devotion's Self Shall Steal A Thought From Heaven.

At Ev'ry Word A Reputation Dies.

Alas! The Small Discredit Of A Bribe Scarce Hurts The Lawyer, But Undoes The Scribe.

Is Pride, The Never-failing Vice Of Fools.

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

Our Business In The Field Of Fight, Is Not To Question, But To Prove Our Might.

Oh! If To Dance All Night, And Dress All Day, Charm'd The Small-pox, Or Chas'd Old Age Away; . . . . To Patch, Nay Ogle, Might Become A Saint, Nor Could It Sure Be Such A Sin To Paint.

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

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw.

See How The World Its Veterans Rewards! A Youth Of Frolics, An Old Age Of Cards; Fair To No Purpose, Artful To No End, Young Without Lovers, Old Without A Friend; A Fop Their Passion, But Their Prize A Sot; Alive Ridiculous, And Dead Forgot.

As With Narrow-necked Bottles; The Less They Have In Them, The More Noise They Make In Pouring Out.

Worth Makes The Man, And Want Of It The Fellow; The Rest Is All But Leather And Prunello.

The Lights And Shades, Whose Well-accorded Strife Gives All The Strength And Color Of Our Life.

Dear Fatal Name! Rest Ever Unreveal'd, Nor Pass These Lips In Holy Silence Seal'd. Hide It, My Heart, Within That Close Disguise, Where Mixed With Gods, His Lov'd Idea Lies: O Write It Not, My Hand - The Name Appears Already Written - Wash It Out, My Tears! In Vain Lost Eloisa Weeps And Prays, Her Heart Still Dictates, And Her Hand Obeyes.

A Brave Man Struggling In The Storms Of Fate, And Greatly Falling With A Falling State.

Whether The Charmer Sinner It, Or Saint It, If Folly Grow Romantic, I Must Paint It.

Blest Paper-credit! Last And Best Supply! That Lends Corruption Lighter Wings To Fly!

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

The Life Of A Wit Is A Warfare Upon Earth.

Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No Private Road, But Looks Through Nature Up To Nature's God.

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.

Do Good By Stealth, And Blush To Find It Fame.

Absent Or Dead, Still Let A Friend Be Dear.

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

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

Some People Will Never Learn Anything, For This Reason, Because They Understand Everything Too Soon.

Education Forms The Common Mind. Just As The Twig Is Bent, The Tree's Inclined.

A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

Vice Is A Monster Of So Frightful Mien As To Be Hated Needs But To Be Seen; Yet Seen Too Oft, Familiar With Her Face, We First Endure, Then Pity, Then Embrace.

Not To Go Back Is Somewhat To Advance, And Men Must Walk, At Least, Before They Dance.

A King Is A Mortal God On Earth, Unto Whom The Living God Hath Lent His Own Name As A Great Honour; But Withal Told Him, He Should Die Like A Man, Lest He Should Be Proud, And Flatter Himself That God Hath With His Name Imparted Unto Him His Nature Also. John Locke, "of A King", The Conduct Of The Understanding: Essays, Moral, Economical, And Political A King May Be A Tool, A Thing Of Straw; But If He Serves To Frighten Our Enemies, And Secure Our Property, It Is Well Enough: A Scarecrow Is A Thing Of Straw, But It Protects The Corn.

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

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

A Brave Man Thinks No One His Superior Who Does Him An Injury, For He Has It Then In His Power To Make Himself Superior To The Other By Forgiving It.

Physicians Are In General The Most Amiable Companions And The Best Friends, As Well As The Most Learned Men I Know.

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.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.

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

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed; What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

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

Fool, 'tis In Vain From Wit To Wit To Roam: Know, Sense, Like Charity, Begins At Home.

Many Men Have Been Capable Of Doing A Wise Thing, More A Cunning Thing, But Very Few A Generous Thing.

There Is A Majesty In Simplicity.

You Beat Your Pate, And Fancy Wit Will Come: Knock As You Please, There's No Body At Home.

Of Manners Gentle, Of Affections Mild; In Wit A Man; Simplicity, A Child.

The Finest Minds, Like The Finest Metals, Dissolve The Easiest.

The Dances Ended, All The Fairy Train For Pinks And Daisies Search'd The Flow'ry Plain.

Ten Censure Wrong For One Who Writes Amiss.

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

Th' Unwilling Gratitude Of Base Mankind!

If It Be The Chief Point Of Friendship To Comply With A Friends Motions And Inclinations, He Possesses This In A Eminent Degree; He Lies Down When I Sit, And Walks When I Walk, Which Is More Than Many Good Friends Can Pretend To Do.

Coffee Which Makes The Politician Wise, And See Through All Things With His Half-shut Eyes.

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

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.

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

Pride Is Still Aiming At The Best Houses: Men Would Be Angels, Angels Would Be Gods. Aspiring To Be Gods, If Angels Fell; Aspiring To Be Angels Men Rebel.

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well? To Bear Too Tender Or Too Firm A Heart, To Act A Lover's Or A Roman's Part? Is There No Bright Reversion In The Sky For Those Who Greatly Think, Or Bravely Die?

Bear, Like The Turk, No Brother Near The Throne.

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.

The Approach Of Night The Skies Yet Blushing With Departing Light, When Falling Dews With Spangles Deck'd The Glade, And The Low Sun Had Lengthen'd Ev'ry Shade.

False Happiness Is Like False Money; It Passes For A Time As Well As The True, And Serves Some Ordinary Occasions; But When It Is Brought To The Touch, We Find The Lightness And Alloy, And Feel The Loss.

Who Sees With Equal Eye, As God Of All, A Hero Perish Or A Sparrow Fall, Atoms Or Systems Into Ruin Hurl'd, And Now A Bubble Burst, And Now A World.

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

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