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When to mischief mortals bend their will, how soon they find it instruments of ill.

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
Bend
Mischief
Mortals
Ill
Instruments
Soon
Find

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The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
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Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, To draw nutrition, propagate and rot.
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Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.
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True wit is nature to advantage dressed What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.
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All nature is but art unknown to thee.
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Music the fiercest grief can charm, And fate's severest rage disarm. Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please Our joys below it can improve, And antedate the bliss above.
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A little learning is a dangerous thing drink of it deeply, or taste it not, for shallow thoughts intoxicate the brain, and drinking deeply sobers us again.
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Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.
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Two purposes in human nature rule. Self- love to urge, and reason to restrain.
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Did some more sober critics come abroad? If wrong, I smil'd if right, I kiss'd the rod.
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'Tis not enough your counsel still be true Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do.
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Like following life through creatures you dissect, You lose it in the moment you detect.
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Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, Stays till we call, and then not often near.
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Of darkness visible so much be lent, as half to show, half veil, the deep intent.
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The life of a wit is a warfare upon earth.
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Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
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O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.
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So man, who here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal 'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.
Alexander Pope