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Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!

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
Unwilling
Base
Gratitude
Mankind

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She went from opera, park, assembly, play, To morning walks, and prayers three hours a day. To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea, To muse, and spill her solitary tea, Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon.
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Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.
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Drink is the feast of reason and the flow of soul.
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Who finds not Providence all good and wise, Alike in what it gives, and what denies.
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The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.
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What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood, of all the Howards.
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Men, some to business, some to pleasure take But every woman is at heart a rake.
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Jarring interests of themselves create the according music of a well-mixed state.
Alexander Pope
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Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.
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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.
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To teach vain Wits that Science little known, T' admire Superior Sense, and doubt their own!
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Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.
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Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, There is no cure 'gainst age but it
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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.
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All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see All discord, harmony not understood All partial evil, universal good.
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Genius creates, and taste preserves. Taste is the good sense of genius without taste, genius is only sublime folly.
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Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, Earth for whose use? Pride answers, 'Tis for mine For me kind nature wakes her genial power, Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower.
Alexander Pope
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Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.
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When to the Permanent is sacrificed the Mutable, the prize is thine: the drop returneth whence it came. The Open Path leads to the changeless change - Non-Being, the glorious state of Absoluteness, the Bliss past human thought.
Alexander Pope
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Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
Alexander Pope