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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).

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
Eyes
Shut
Berries
Turns
Round
Spoons
Half
Rounds
Mills
Repast
Eye
Coffee
Frequent
Crackle
Makes
Politician
Scent
Prolong
Things
Taste
Board
Gratify
Wise
Boards
Crowned
Rich
Cups
Mill

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Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.
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Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
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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?
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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.
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Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
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In a sadly pleasing strain, let the warbling lute complain.
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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.
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There still remains to mortify a wit The many-headed monster of the pit.
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Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand.
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The bookful blockhead ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head, With his own tongue still edifies his ears, And always list'ning to himself appears. All books he reads, and all he reads assails.
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To dazzle let the vain design, To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!
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A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age.
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Wretches hang that jurymen may dine.
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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.
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As some to Church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there.
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Men, some to business, some to pleasure take But every woman is at heart a rake.
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Sometimes virtue starves while vice is fed.
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The season when to come, and when to go, to sing, or cease to sing, we never know.
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Hope humbly then with trembling pinions soar Wait the great teacher, Death, and God adore What future bliss He gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
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