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But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

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
Thinking
Bear
Thinks
Sky
Dog
Bears
Equal
Shall
Admitted
Company
Faithful

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Those oft are stratagems which errors seem Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
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If, presume not to God to scan The proper study of Mankind is Man. Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state, a being darkly wise, and rudely great.
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If a man's character is to be abused there's nobody like a relative to do the business.
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And you, my Critics! in the chequer'd shade, Admire new light thro' holes yourselves have made.
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But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. The wond'ring forests soon should dance again The moving mountains hear the powerful call. And headlong streams hand listening in their fall!
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Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows.
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Those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
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Nothing can be more shocking and horrid than one of our kitchens sprinkled with blood, and abounding with the cries of expiring victims or with the limbs of dead animals scattered or hung up here and there.
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Some praise at morning what they blame at night, but always think the last opinion right.
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For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion.
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Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.
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Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
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Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade, The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
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Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.
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And write about it, Goddess, and about it!
Alexander Pope
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Die of a rose in aromatic pain.
Alexander Pope
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Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober, studious days!
Alexander Pope
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Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings?
Alexander Pope