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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.

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
Translator
the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
Alexander
I Pope
Rest
Thanksgiving
Feasts
Ends
Ancestor
Housed
Littles
Strain
Indulged
Little
Thankful
Blest
Grain
Annuals
Rings
Annual
Patient
Rural
Labor
Ancestors

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Wit and judgment often are at strife.
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But see how oft ambition's aims are cross'd, and chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!
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Order is Heaven's first law and this confessed, some are, and must be, greater than the rest, more rich, more wise but who infers from hence that such are happier, shocks all common sense. Condition, circumstance, is not the thing bliss is the same in subject or in king.
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Most women have no characters at all.
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The only time you run out of chances is when you stop taking them
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Modest plainness sets off sprightly wit, For works may have more with than does 'em good, As bodies perish through excess of blood.
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In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend.
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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.
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But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.
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The scripture in times of disputes is like an open town in times of war, which serves in differently the occasions of both parties.
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A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.
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See the wild Waste of all-devouring years! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread! The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!
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Old men, for the most part, are like old chronicles that give you dull but true accounts of times past, and are worth knowing only on that score.
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Oh, when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame? In living medals see her wars enroll'd, And vanquished realms supply recording gold?
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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.
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Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.
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Age and want sit smiling at the gate.
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These riches are possess'd, but not enjoy'd!
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Strength of mind is exercise, not rest.
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Good God! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part.
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