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Dulness! whose good old cause I yet defend, With whom my muse began, with who shall end.

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
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the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
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Dulness
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Defend
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Hope springs eternal.
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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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Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
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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.
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But just disease to luxury succeeds, And ev'ry death its own avenger breeds.
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True friendship's laws are by this rule express'd, Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.
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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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The grave unites where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' oppressed!
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Man never thinks himself happy, but when he enjoys those things which others want or desire.
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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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What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? Alas! not all the blood, of all the Howards.
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When two people compliment each other with the choice of anything, each of them generally gets that which he likes least.
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Age and want sit smiling at the gate.
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What bosom beast not in his country's cause?
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One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.
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Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
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And die of nothing but a rage to live.
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O happiness! our being's end and aim! Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts the eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die.
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Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall And universal darkness buries all.
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