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Who Sees Pale Mammom Pine Amidst His Store, Sees But A Backward Steward For The Poor.

-Alexander Pope

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Who Sees Pale Mammom

Alexander Pope

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Who Sees Pale Mammom Pine Amidst His Store, Sees But A Backward Steward For The Poor.

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

It Is Very Natural For A Young Friend And A Young Lover To Think The Persons They Love Have Nothing To Do But To Please Them.

How Do We Know That We Have A Right To Kill Creatures That We Are So Little Above, As Dogs, For Our Curiosity Or Even For Some Use To Us?

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

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.

The Flower's Are Gone When The Fruits Appear To Ripen.

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

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

Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

Eye Nature's Walks, Shoot Folly As It Flies, And Catch The Manners Living As They Rise; Laugh Where We Must, Be Candid Where We Can, But Vindicate The Ways Of God To Man.

The Difference Is Too Nice - Where Ends The Virtue Or Begins The Vice.

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.

No One Should Be Ashamed To Admit They Are Wrong, Which Is But Saying, In Other Words, That They Are Wiser Today Than They Were Yesterday.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fixed, 'tis Fixed As In A Frost.

Fame Can Never Make Us Lie Down Contentedly On A Deathbed.

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.

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

Honor And Shame From No Condition Rise. Act Well Your Part: There All The Honor Lies.

Where Grows?--where Grows It Not? If Vain Our Toil, We Ought To Blame The Culture, Not The Soil.

To Teach Vain Wits That Science Little Known, T' Admire Superior Sense, And Doubt Their Own!

The Lamb Thy Riot Dooms To Bleed Today, Had He Thy Reason, Would He Skip And Play? Pleas'd To The Last He Crops The Flow'ry Food, And Licks The Hand Just Rais'd To Shed His Blood.

When We Are Young, We Are Slavishly Employed In Procuring Something Whereby We May Live Comfortably When We Grow Old; And When We Are Old, We Perceive It Is Too Late To Live As We Proposed.

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

Music The Fiercest Grief Can Charm, And Fate's Severest Rage Disarm. Music Can Soften Pain To Ease, And Make Despair And Madness Please; Our Joys Below It Can Improve, And Antedate The Bliss Above.

And Seem To Walk On Wings, And Tread In Air.

On Life's Vast Ocean Diversely We Sail, Reason The Card, But Passion Is The Gale; Nor God Alone In The Still Calm We Find, He Mounts The Storm, And Walks Upon The Wind.

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

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dress'd What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Express'd; Something Whose Truth Convinced At Sight We Find, That Gives Us Back The Image Of Our Mind. As Shades More Sweetly Recommend The Light, So Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit.

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fix'd: 't Is Fix'd As In A Frost; Contracted All, Retiring To The Breast; But Strength Of Mind Is Exercise, Not Rest.

The Physician, By The Study And Inspection Of Urine And Ordure, Approves Himself In The Science; And In Like Sort Should Our Author Accustom And Exercise His Imagination Upon The Dregs Of Nature.

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.

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.

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

What Is Fame? A Fancied Life In Others' Breath.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

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

The Worst Of Madmen Is A Saint Run Mad.

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).

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

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

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

The Right Divine Of Kings To Govern Wrong.

The Soul, Uneasy And Confin'd From Home, Rests And Expatiates In A Life To Come.

To Observations Which Ourselves We Make, We Grow More Partial For Th' Observer's Sake.

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

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.

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

He Knows To Live Who Keeps The Middle State, And Neither Leans On This Side Nor On That.

Presumptuous Man! The Reason Wouldst Thou Find,why Form'd So Weak, So Little, And So Blind?first, If Thou Canst, The Harder Reason Guess,why Form'd No Weaker, Blinder, And No Less!ask Of Thy Mother Earth, Why Oaks Are Madetaller Or Stronger Than The Weeds They Shade?or Ask Of Yonder Argent Fields Above,why Jove's Satellites Are Less Than Jove?

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.

We Ought, In Humanity, No More To Despise A Man For The Misfortunes Of The Mind Than For Those Of The Body, When They Are Such As He Cannot Help; Were This Thoroughly Considered We Should No More Laugh At A Man For Having His Brains Cracked Than For Having His Head Broke.

In Adamantine Chains Shall Death Be Bound, And Hell's Grim Tyrant Feel Th' Eternal Wound.

Truths Would You Teach, Or Save A Sinking Land? All Fear, None Aid You, And Few Understand.

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.

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

To Dazzle Let The Vain Design, To Raise The Thought And Touch The Heart, Be Thine!

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

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

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

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

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 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.

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

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

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

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.

The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot. Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind! Each Pray'r Accepted, And Each Wish Resign'd

Who Dare To Love Their Country, And Be Poor.

Sure Of Their Qualities And Demanding Praise, More Go To Ruined Fortunes Than Are Raised.

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

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.

Never Elated While One Man's Oppress'd; Never Dejected While Another's Blessed.

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.

As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows The Tree.

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.

So Perish All Who Do The Like Again.

Truth Shines The Brighter, Clad In Verse.

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

No Creature Smarts So Little As A Fool.

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.

Wit Is The Lowest Form Of Humor.

Whether The Darken'd Room To Muse Invite, Or Whiten'd Wall Provoke The Skew'r To Write; In Durance, Exile, Bedlam, Or The Mint, Like Lee Or Budgel I Will Rhyme And Print.

A Patriot Is A Fool In Ev'ry Age.

Ambition First Sprung From Your Blest Abodes: The Glorious Fault Of Angels And Of Gods.

An Obstinate Person Does Not Hold Opinions; They Hold Them.

Offend Her, And She Knows Not To Forgive; Oblige Her, And She'll Hate You While You Live.

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.

By Music Minds An Equal Temper Know, Nor Swell Too High, Nor Sink Too Low. . . . . Warriors She Fires With Animated Sounds. Pours Balm Into The Bleeding Lover's Wounds.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confused; Still By Himself Abused Or Disabused; Created Half To Rise, And Half To Fall; Great Lord Of All Things, Yet A Prey To All; Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled,- The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World.

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

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

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

Two Women Seldom Grow Intimate But At The Expense Of A Third Person; They Make Friendships As Kings Of Old Made Leagues, Who Sacrificed Some Poor Animal Betwixt Them, And Commenced Strict Allies; So The Ladies, After They Have Pulled Some Character To Pieces, Are From Henceforth Inviolable Friends.

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

Hope Springs Eternal.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought, And Still Appears More Decent As More Suitable; A Vile Conceit In Pompous Words Express'd, Is Like A Clown In Regal Purple Dress'd.

Get Your Enemy To Read Your Works In Order To Mend Them, For Your Friend Is So Much Your Second Self That He Will Judge Too Like You.

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?

An Excuse Is Worse And More Terrible Than A Lie; For An Excuse Is A Lie Guarded.

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

Unthought-of Frailties Cheat Us In The Wise.

In This Commonplace World Every One Is Said To Be Romantic Who Either Admires A Fine Thing Or Does One.

While I Live, No Rich Or Noble Knave Shall Walk The World In Credit To His Grave.

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

There Should Be, Methinks, As Little Merit In Loving A Woman For Her Beauty As In Loving A Man For His Prosperity; Both Being Equally Subject To Change.

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

I Lose My Patience, And I Own It Too, When Works Are Censur'd, Not As Bad But New; While If Our Elders Break All Reason's Laws, These Fools Demand Not Pardon But Applause.

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.

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.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

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.

The People's Voice Is Odd, It Is, And It Is Not, The Voice Of God.

Then Marble, Soften'd Into Life, Grew Warm.

A Youth Of Frolic, An Old Age Of Cards.

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.

Remembrance And Reflection How Allied. What Thin Partitions Divides Sense From Thought.

Tis All In Vain To Keep A Constant Pother About One Vice And Fall Into Another.

Why Did I Write? What Sin To Me Unknown Dipped Me In Ink, My Parents , Or My Own?

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

Authors Are Partial To Their Wit, 'tis True, But Are Not Critics To Their Judgment, Too?

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

A Gen'rous Heart Repairs A Sland'rous Tongue.

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

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

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

Ask You What Provocation I Have Had? The Strong Antipathy Of Good To Bad.

Silence! Coeval With Eternity! Thou Wert Ere Nature's Self Began To Be; Thine Was The Sway Ere Heaven Was Formed On Earth, Ere Fruitful Thought Conceived Creation's Birth.

Hear How The Birds, On Ev'ry Blooming Spray, With Joyous Musick Wake The Dawning Day.

Poets Like Painters, Thus Unskilled To Trace The Naked Nature And The Living Grace, With Gold And Jewels Cover Ev'ry Part, And Hide With Ornaments Their Want Of Art. True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed, What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

Who Dies In Youth And Vigour, Dies The Best.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought.

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

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

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

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

At Every Trifle Take Offense, That Always Shows Great Pride Or Little Sense.

On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits.

Virtue She Finds Too Painful An Endeavour, Content To Dwell In Decencies For Ever.

There Is But One Way I Know Of Conversing Safely With All Men; That Is, Not By Concealing What We Say Or Do, But By Saying Or Doing Nothing That Deserves To Be Concealed.

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.

For Thee I Dim These Eye And Stuff This Head With All Such Reading As Was Never Read.

Nay, Fly To Altars; There They'll Talk You Dead; For Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

From Nature's Chain Whatever Link You Strike, Tenth Or Ten Thousandth, Breaks The Chain Alike.

Who Sees Pale Mammom Pine Amidst His Store, Sees But A Backward Steward For The Poor.

But If You'll Prosper, Mark What I Advise, Whom Age, And Long Experience Render Wise.

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

Genius Creates, And Taste Preserves.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.

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

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.

Hills Peep O'er Hills, And Alps On Alps Arise.

Pretty Conceptions, Fine Metaphors, Glittering Expressions, And Something Of A Neat Cast Of Verse Are Properly The Dress, Gems, Or Loose Ornaments Of Poetry.

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

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

Devotion's Self Shall Steal A Thought From Heaven.

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

Heaven Gave To Woman The Peculiar Grace To Spin, To Weep, And Cully Human Race.

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.

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.

To Endeavor To Work Upon The Vulgar With Fine Sense Is Like Attempting To Hew Blocks With A Razor.

He Who Tells A Lie Is Not Sensible Of How Great A Task He Undertakes; For He Must Be Forced To Invent Twenty More To Maintain That One.

Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They Grow Old.

Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

Fear Not The Anger Of The Wise To Raise; Those Best Can Bear Reproof Who Merit Praise.

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

Men Must Be Taught As If You Taught Them Not, And Things Unknown Proposed As Things Forgot.

Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

Age And Want Sit Smiling At The Gate.

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.

Curse On All Laws But Those Which Love Has Made.

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

Art Still Followed Where Rome's Eagles Flew.

Here Hills And Vales, The Woodland And The Plain Here Earth And Water Seem To Strive Again, Not Chaos-like Together Crushed And Bruised, But, As The World, Harmoniously Confused: Where Order In Variety We See, And Where, Though All Things Differ, All Agree.

Yes, I Am Proud; I Must Be Proud To See Men Not Afraid Of God, Afraid Of Me.

Conceit Is To Nature What Paint Is To Beauty; It Is Not Only Needless, But It Impairs What It Would Improve.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

Education Forms The Common Mind.

Here Am I, Dying Of A Hundred Good Symptoms.

Famous Last Words

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

Whether With Reason, Or With Instinct Blest, Know, All Enjoy That Pow'r Which Suits Them Best.

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.

Act Well Your Part, There All The Honour Lies.

Some To Conceit Alone Their Taste Confine, And Glittering Thoughts Struck Out At Ev'ry Line; Pleas'd With A Work Where Nothing's Just Or Fit; One Glaring Chaos And Wild Heap Of Wit.

Count All Th' Advantage Prosperous Vice Attains, 'tis But What Virtue Flies From And Disdains: And Grant The Bad What Happiness They Would, One They Must Want--which Is, To Pass For Good.

I As Little Fear That God Will Damn A Man That Has Charity, As I Hope That The Priests Can Save One Who Has Not.

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.

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.

Oft In Dreams Invention We Bestow To Change A Flounce Or Add A Furbelow.

Pride, Where Wit Fails, Steps In To Our Defence, And Fills Up All The Mighty Void Of Sense.

How Index-learning Turns No Student Pale, Yet Holds The Eel Of Science By The Tail!

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

Order Is Heaven's First Law.

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

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