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Count all th' advantage prosperous Vice attains, 'Tis but what Virtue flies from and disdains: And grant the bad what happiness they would, One they must want--which is, to pass for good.

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
Would
Count
Disdains
Vices
Attains
Pass
Disdain
Advantage
Flies
Virtue
Grant
Happiness
Prosperous
Must
Grants
Good
Vice

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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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Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid.
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Whether the charmer sinner it, or saint it, If folly grow romantic, I must paint it.
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Mark what unvary'd laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate.
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Woman's at best a contradiction still.
Alexander Pope
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See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head! Philosophy, that lean'd on Heav'n before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense! See Mystery to Mathematics fly!
Alexander Pope
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A man who admires a fine woman, has yet not more reason to wish himself her husband, than one who admired the Hesperian fruit, would have had to wish himself the dragon that kept it.
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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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Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.
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Persons of genius, and those who are most capable of art, are always most fond of nature: as such are chiefly sensible, that all art consists in the imitation and study of nature.
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Religion blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires.
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Alas! the small discredit of a bribe Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe.
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Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell aspiring to be angels men rebel.
Alexander Pope
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Intestine war no more our passions wage, And giddy factions bear away their rage.
Alexander Pope
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Where grows?--where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
Alexander Pope
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Our plenteous streams a various race supply, The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold, Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains.
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The learned is happy, nature to explore The fool is happy, that he knows no more.
Alexander Pope
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As some to Church repair, not for the doctrine, but the music there.
Alexander Pope
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Horses (thou say'st) and asses men may try, And ring suspected vessels ere they buy But wives, a random choice, untried they take They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake Then, nor till then, the veil's removed away, And all the woman glares in open day.
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Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Alexander Pope