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With sharpen'd sight pale Antiquaries pore, Th' inscription value, but the rust adore. This the blue varnish, that the green endears The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years.

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
Sacred
Inscription
Sight
Inscriptions
Green
Sharpen
Blue
Rust
Hundred
Adore
Value
Pale
Endears
Values
Twice
Varnish
Years
Ten
Pore

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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold: For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot? The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
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And make each day a critic on the last.
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As some to Church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there.
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The enormous faith of many made for one.
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He knows to live who keeps the middle state, and neither leans on this side nor on that.
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Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
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Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find two of a face as soon as of a mind.
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I as little fear that God will damn a man that has charity, as I hope that the priests can save one who has not.
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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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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.
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Never was it given to mortal man - To lie so boldly as we women can.
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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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An honest man's the noblest work of God.
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See plastic Nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to, the next in place Form'd and impell'd its neighbor to embrace.
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The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole Can never be a mouse of any soul.
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But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.
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Where's the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know.
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And die of nothing but a rage to live.
Alexander Pope
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I am satisfied to trifle away my time, rather than let it stick by me.
Alexander Pope