Alexander Pope

“ Reason is here no guide, but still a guard: 'Tis hers to rectify, not overthrow, And treat this passion more as friend than foe: A mightier power the strong direction sends, And several men impels to several ends: Like varying winds, by other passions tost, This drives them constant to a certain coast. Let power or knowledge, gold or glory, please, Or (oft more strong than all) the love of ease; 170 Through life 'tis follow'd, even at life's expense; The merchant's toil, the sage's indolence, The monk's humility, the hero's pride, All, all alike, find reason on their side. ”

“ When luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf, Cursed by thy neighbours, thy trustees, thyself, To friends, to fortune, to mankind a shame, Think how posterity will treat thy name; And buy a rope, that future times may tell 110 Thou hast at least bestow'd one penny well. 'Right,' cries his lordship, 'for a rogue in need To have a taste is insolence indeed: In me 'tis noble, suits my birth and state, My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great.' Then, like the sun, let bounty spread her ray, And shine that superfluity away. ”

“ Unfinished things, one knows not what to call, Their generation's so equivocal: To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require, Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. But you who seek to give and merit fame, And justly bear a critic's noble name, Be sure yourself and your own reach to know, How far your genius, taste, and learning go; Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, 50 And mark that point where sense and dulness meet. Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit. ”

“ All that we ask is but a patient ear. 'Tis the first virtue, vices to abhor: And the first wisdom, to be fool no more. But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure, and a small estate. To either India see the merchant fly, Scared at the spectre of pale poverty! 70 See him, with pains of body, pangs of soul, Burn through the tropic, freeze beneath the pole! Wilt thou do nothing for a nobler end, Nothing, to make philosophy thy friend? To stop thy foolish views, thy long desires, And ease thy heart of all that it admires? Here, Wisdom calls: 'Seek Virtue first, be bold! ”

“ Critics in wit, or life, are hard to please, Few write to those, and none can live to these. 30 Too much your sex is by their forms confined, Severe to all, but most to womankind; Custom, grown blind with age, must be your guide; Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride; By nature yielding, stubborn but for fame; Made slaves by honour, and made fools by shame. Marriage may all those petty tyrants chase, But sets up one, a greater, in their place; Well might you wish for change, by those accursed, But the last tyrant ever proves the worst. ”

“ Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves when press'd, Stays till we call, and then not often near; But honest instinct comes a volunteer, Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit; While still too wide or short is human wit; 90 Sure by quick nature happiness to gain, Which heavier reason labours at in vain. This, too serves always, reason never long; One must go right, the other may go wrong. See then the acting and comparing powers One in their nature, which are two in ours; And reason raise o'er instinct as you can, In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis Man. ”

“ Some, to whom Heaven in wit has been profuse, 80 Want as much more to turn it to its use; For wit and judgment often are at strife, Though meant each other's aid, like man and wife, 'Tis more to guide than spur the Muse's steed, Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed; The wingèd courser, like a generous horse, Shows most true mettle when you check his course. Those rules, of old discover'd, not devised, Are Nature still, but Nature methodised; Nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd 90 By the same laws which first herself ordain'd. ”

“ Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool, Not Lucre's madman, nor Ambition's tool, Not proud, nor servile; be one poet's praise, That, if he pleased, he pleased by manly ways: That flattery, even to kings, he held a shame, And thought a lie in verse or prose the same. That not in Fancy's maze he wander'd long, 340 But stoop'd to Truth, and moralised his song: That not for Fame, but Virtue's better end, He stood the furious foe, the timid friend, The damning critic, half-approving wit, The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit ”

“ PROLOGUE TO MR ADDISON'S TRAGEDY OF CATO. 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 scene, and be what they behold: For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage, Commanding tears to stream through every age; Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move The hero's glory, or the virgin's love; 10 In pitying love, we but our weakness show, And wild ambition well deserves its woe. ”

“ Fear made her devils, and weak hope her gods; Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, And, form'd like tyrants, tyrants would believe. 260 Zeal then, not charity, became the guide; And hell was built on spite, and heaven on pride. Then sacred seem'd the ethereal vault no more; Altars grew marble then, and reek'd with gore: Then first the Flamen tasted living food; Next his grim idol smear'd with human blood; With Heaven's own thunders shook the world below, And play'd the god an engine on his foe. ”

“ Whatever is, is right.—This world, 'tis true, Was made for Caesar—but for Titus too: And which more bless'd? who chain'd his country, say, Or he whose virtue sigh'd to lose a day? 'But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is fed.' What then? Is the reward of virtue bread? 150 That, vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil; The knave deserves it, when he tills the soil, The knave deserves it, when he tempts the main, Where Folly fights for kings, or dives for gain. The good man may be weak, be indolent; Nor is his claim to plenty, but content. But grant him riches, your demand is o'er? ”

“ Each beast, each insect, happy in its own: Is Heaven unkind to Man, and Man alone? Shall he alone, whom rational we call, Be pleased with nothing, if not bless'd with all? The bliss of Man (could pride that blessing find) Is not to act or think beyond mankind; 190 No powers of body or of soul to share, But what his nature and his state can bear. Why has not Man a microscopic eye? For this plain reason, Man is not a fly. Say, what the use, were finer optics given, T'inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven? Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, To smart and agonise at every pore? ”

“ In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts Is not the exactness of peculiar parts; 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all. Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome, (The world's just wonder, and even thine, O Rome!) No single parts unequally surprise, All comes united to th' admiring eyes; 250 No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear; The whole at once is bold, and regular. Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. ”

“ In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend; And if the means be just, the conduct true, Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due. As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, To avoid great errors, must the less commit: 260 Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays, For not to know some trifles is a praise. Most critics, fond of some subservient art, Still make the whole depend upon a part: They talk of principles, but notions prize, And all to one loved folly sacrifice. ”

“ Where grows?—where grows it not? If vain our toil, We ought to blame the culture, not the soil: Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere, Tis nowhere to be found, or everywhere; 'Tis never to be bought, but always free, And, fled from monarchs, St John! dwells with thee. I. Ask of the learn'd the way? the learn'd are blind; This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind; 20 Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, Those call it Pleasure, and Contentment these; Some, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain; Some, swell'd to gods, confess even virtue vain ”

“ The broadest mirth unfeeling Folly wears, Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears: 320 Good, from each object, from each place acquired, For ever exercised, yet never tired; Never elated, while one man's oppress'd; Never dejected, while another's bless'd; And where no wants, no wishes can remain, Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain. See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow! Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know: Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, The bad must miss; the good, untaught, will find ”

“ First at the shrine the learnèd world appear, And to the goddess thus prefer their prayer: 'Long have we sought to instruct and please mankind, 300 With studies pale, with midnight vigils blind; But thank'd by few, rewarded yet by none, We here appeal to thy superior throne; On wit and learning the just prize bestow, For fame is all we must expect below.' The goddess heard, and bade the Muses raise The golden trumpet of eternal praise: From pole to pole the winds diffuse the sound, That fills the circuit of the world around; Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud ”

“ A fool might once himself alone expose, Now one in verse makes many more in prose. 'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Go just alike, yet each believes his own. 10 In poets as true genius is but rare, True taste as seldom, is the critic's share; Both must alike from Heaven derive their light, These born to judge, as well as those to write. Let such teach others who themselves excel. And censure freely who have written well. Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true, But are not critics to their judgment too? ”

“ Taught half by reason, half by mere decay, To welcome death, and calmly pass away. 260 Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbour with himself. The learn'd is happy Nature to explore; The fool is happy that he knows no more; The rich is happy in the plenty given, The poor contents him with the care of Heaven. See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing, The sot a hero, lunatic a king; The starving chemist in his golden views Supremely bless'd, the poet in his Muse. ”

“ If the great end be human happiness, Then Nature deviates; and can Man do less? 150 As much that end a constant course requires Of showers and sunshine, as of Man's desires; As much eternal springs and cloudless skies, As men for ever temperate, calm, and wise. If plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's design, Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline? Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning forms, Who heaves old Ocean, and who wings the storms, Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind, Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind? ”

“ What boy but hears the sayings of old Ben? 80 In all debates where critics bear a part, Not one but nods and talks of Johnson's art, Of Shakspeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit; How Beaumont's judgment check'd what Fletcher writ; How Shadwell hasty, Wycherley was slow; But, for the passions, Southern sure and Rowe. These, only these, support the crowded stage, From eldest Heywood down to Cibber's age.' All this may be; the people's voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God. ”

“ Or plain tradition that this All begun, Convey'd unbroken faith from sire to son; The worker from the work distinct was known, And simple reason never sought but one: 230 Ere wit oblique had broke that steady light, Man, like his Maker, saw that all was right; To virtue, in the paths of pleasure, trod, And own'd a Father when he own'd a God. Love all the faith, and all the allegiance then; For nature knew no right divine in men, No ill could fear in God; and understood A sovereign Being, but a sovereign good. True faith, true policy, united ran, That was but love of God, and this of Man. ”

“ For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind: Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, And fills up all the mighty void of sense: 210 If once right reason drives that cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. Trust not yourself; but your defects to know, Make use of every friend—and every foe. A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again. ”

“ But since not every good we can divide, And reason bids us for our own provide; Passions, though selfish, if their means be fair, List under reason, and deserve her care; Those, that imparted, court a nobler aim, Exalt their kind, and take some virtue's name. 100 In lazy apathy let Stoics boast Their virtue fix'd; 'tis fix'd as in a frost; Contracted all, retiring to the breast; But strength of mind is exercise, not rest: The rising tempest puts in act the soul, Parts it may ravage, but preserves the whole. On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale ”

“ Who most to shun or hate mankind pretend, Seek an admirer, or would fix a friend: Abstract what others feel, what others think, All pleasures sicken, and all glories sink: Each has his share; and who would more obtain, Shall find, the pleasure pays not half the pain. Order is Heaven's first law; and, this confess'd, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, 50 More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence That such are happier, shocks all common sense. Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, If all are equal in their happiness: But mutual wants this happiness increase ”

“ Of vice or virtue, whether bless'd or cursed, Which meets contempt, or which compassion first? Count all th' advantage prosperous vice attains, 'Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains: 90 And grant the bad what happiness they would, One they must want, which is, to pass for good. Oh, blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below, Who fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe! Who sees and follows that great scheme the best, Best knows the blessing, and will most be bless'd. But fools, the good alone unhappy call, For ills or accidents that chance to all. ”

“ There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground, now sacred by thy relics made. So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. 70 How loved, how honour'd once, avails thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot; A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. ”

“ He from the taste obscene reclaims our youth, And sets the passions on the side of truth, Forms the soft bosom with the gentlest art, And pours each human virtue in the heart, 220 Let Ireland tell, how wit upheld her cause, Her trade supported, and supplied her laws; And leave on Swift this grateful verse engraved, 'The rights a court attack'd, a poet saved.' Behold the hand that wrought a nation's cure, Stretch'd to relieve the idiot and the poor, Proud vice to brand, or injured worth adorn, And stretch the ray to ages yet unborn. ”

“ Plain was their dress, and modest was their mien. 'Great idol of mankind! we neither claim The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame; But safe in deserts from the applause of men, 360 Would die unheard of, as we lived unseen; 'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight Those acts of goodness which themselves requite. Oh let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.' 'And live there men, who slight immortal Fame? Who then with incense shall adore our name? But, mortals! know, 'tis still our greatest pride To blaze those virtues which the good would hide. ”

“ Be struck with bright brocade, or Tyrian dye, Our birthday nobles' splendid livery. If not so pleased, at council-board rejoice, To see their judgments hang upon thy voice; From morn to night, at Senate, Rolls, and Hall, Plead much, read more, dine late, or not at all. But wherefore all this labour, all this strife? For fame, for riches, for a noble wife? Shall one whom nature, learning, birth, conspired 40 To form, not to admire, but be admired, Sigh, while his Chloe, blind to wit and worth, Weds the rich dulness of some son of earth? ”

“ A poet begs me I will hear him read: In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there— At ten for certain, sir, in Bloomsbury Square— Before the Lords at twelve my cause comes on— There's a rehearsal, sir, exact at one.— 'Oh, but a wit can study in the streets, And raise his mind above the mob he meets.' Not quite so well, however, as one ought; 100 A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought: And then a nodding beam, or pig of lead, God knows, may hurt the very ablest head. ”