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Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

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
Understanding
Sinking
Understand
Truths
Fear
Would
Aids
Save
None
Land
Teach

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A perfect judge will read each word of wit with the same spirit that its author writ.
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A field of glory is a field for all.
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Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother About one vice and fall into another.
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know.
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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.
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Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Just as one beauty mortifies another.
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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.
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Passions are the gales of life.
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And not a vanity is given in vain.
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Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
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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.
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Sickness is a sort of early old age it teaches us a diffidence in our earthly state.
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Good-nature and good-sense must ever join To err is human, to forgive, divine.
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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.
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Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, Those call it pleasure, and contentment these.
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Extremes in nature equal ends produce In man they join to some mysterious use.
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What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
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Poets heap virtues, painters gems, at will, And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill.
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Teach me to feel another's woe, to hide the fault I see, that mercy I to others show, that mercy show to me.
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