Alexander Pope

“ No poet, we venture to say, can be great without a great purpose. "Purpose is the edge and point of character; it is the stamp and superscription of genius; it is the direction on the letter of talent. Character without it is blunt and torpid; talent without it is a letter which, undirected, goes nowhere; genius without it is bullion, sluggish, splendid, and uncirculating." Now, Pope's purpose seems, on the whole, dim and uncertain. He is indifferent to destruction, and careless about conserving. He is neither an infidel nor a Christian; no Whig, but no very ardent Tory either. ”

“ EPITAPH ON LORD CONINGSBY. Here lies Lord Coningsby—be civil! The rest God knows—perhaps the Devil.
EPIGRAM. You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come; Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH. Sir, I admit your general rule, That every poet is a fool: But you yourself may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet.
EPITAPH ON GAY. Well, then, poor G—— lies under ground! So there's an end of honest Jack. So little justice here he found, 'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back. ”

“ Untuned my lute, and silent is my lyre. My languid numbers have forgot to flow, 230 And fancy sinks beneath a weight of woe. Ye Lesbian virgins, and ye Lesbian dames, Themes of my verse, and objects of my flames, No more your groves with my glad songs shall ring, No more these hands shall touch the trembling string: My Phaon's fled, and I those arts resign; (Wretch that I am, to call that Phaon mine!) Return, fair youth! return, and bring along Joy to my soul, and vigour to my song: Absent from thee, the poet's flame expires; 240 But ah! how fiercely burn the lover's fires? ”

“ Who, like her mistress on Britannia's throne, Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own. To write their praise you but in vain essay; E'en while you write, you take that praise away: Light to the stars the sun does thus restore, But shines himself till they are seen no more.
EPIGRAM. A Bishop, by his neighbours hated, Has cause to wish himself translated: But why should Hough desire translation, Loved and esteem'd by all the nation? Yet, if it be the old man's case, I'll lay my life I know the place: 'Tis where God sent some that adore Him, And whither Enoch went before him. ”

“ Whate'er of dunce in college or in town Sneers at another, in toupée or gown; Whate'er of mongrel no one class admits, A wit with dunces, and a dunce with wits. 90 Nor absent they, no members of her state, Who pay her homage in her sons, the great; Who, false to Phoebus, bow the knee to Baal; Or, impious, preach his word without a call. Patrons, who sneak from living worth to dead, Withhold the pension, and set up the head; Or vest dull flattery in the sacred gown; Or give from fool to fool the laurel crown. And (last and worst) with all the cant of wit, Without the soul, the Muse's hypocrite. ”

“ If you had wit, you'd say, 'Go where you will, 130 Dear spouse! I credit not the tales they tell: Take all the freedoms of a married life; I know thee for a virtuous, faithful wife.' Lord! when you have enough, what need you care How merrily soever others fare? Though all the day I give and take delight, Doubt not, sufficient will be left at night. 'Tis but a just and rational desire To light a taper at a neighbour's fire. There's danger too, you think, in rich array, 140 And none can long be modest that are gay. ”

“ Some writers, destined to oblivion in after-ages, have been loaded with laurels in their own time; while others, on whom Fame was one day to "wait like a menial," have gone to the grave neglected, if not decried and depreciated. But it was the fate of Pope to combine in his single experience the extremes of detraction and flattery—to have the sunshine of applause and the hail-storm of calumny mingled on his living head; while over his dead body, as over the body of Patroclus, there has raged a critical controversy, involving not merely his character as a man, but his claims as a poet. ”

“ So Philomedé,14 lecturing all mankind On the soft passion and the taste refined, The address, the delicacy—stoops at once, And makes her hearty meal upon a dunce. Flavia's a wit, has too much sense to pray; To toast our wants and wishes, is her way; Nor asks of God, but of her stars, to give The mighty blessing, 'While we live, to live.' 90 Then all for death, that opiate of the soul! Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl. Say, what can cause such impotence of mind? A spark too fickle, or a spouse too kind. Wise wretch! ”

“ Shines, in exposing knaves, and painting fools, Yet is whate'er she hates and ridicules. 120 No thought advances, but her eddy brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full sixty years the world has been her trade, The wisest fool much time has ever made. From loveless youth to uninspected age, No passion gratified, except her rage. So much the fury still outran the wit, The pleasure miss'd her, and the scandal hit. Who breaks with her, provokes revenge from hell, But he's a bolder man who dares be well. ”

“ Yet Phoebus loved, and Bacchus felt the flame, One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame; Nymphs that in verse no more could rival me, Than e'en those gods contend in charms with thee. 30 The Muses teach me all their softest lays, And the wide world resounds with Sappho's praise. Though great Alcaeus more sublimely sings, And strikes with bolder rage the sounding strings, No less renown attends the moving lyre, Which Venus tunes, and all her loves inspire. To me what nature has in charms denied, Is well by wit's more lasting flames supplied. ”

“ But from my branching arms this infant bear, Let some kind nurse supply a mother's care: And to his mother let him oft be led, Sport in her shades, and in her shades be fed: Teach him, when first his infant voice shall frame 80 Imperfect words, and lisp his mother's name, To hail this tree, and say, with weeping eyes, 'Within this plant my hapless parent lies:' And when in youth he seeks the shady woods, Oh! let him fly the crystal lakes and floods, Nor touch the fatal flowers; but, warn'd by me, Believe a goddess shrined in every tree. My sire, my sister, and my spouse, farewell! ”

“ Why then declare good-nature is her scorn, When 'tis by that alone she can be borne 60 Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame: Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres: Now conscience chills her, and now passion burns; And atheism and religion take their turns; A very heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart. See Sin in state, majestically drunk; Proud as a peeress, prouder as a punk; 70 Chaste to her husband, frank to all beside, A teeming mistress, but a barren bride. ”

“ The charms of wedlock all his soul employ: Each nymph by turns his wavering mind possess'd, 230 And reign'd the short-lived tyrant of his breast; Whilst fancy pictured every lively part, And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart. Thus, in some public forum fix'd on high, A mirror shows the figures moving by; Still one by one, in swift succession, pass The gliding shadows o'er the polish'd glass. This lady's charms the nicest could not blame, But vile suspicions had aspersed her fame; That was with sense, but not with virtue bless'd ”

“ What could a tender mother's care Wish better, to her favourite heir, Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours, A stock of health, and golden showers, 20 And graceful fluency of speech, Precepts before unknown to teach? Amidst thy various ebbs of fear, And gleaming hope, and black despair, Yet let thy friend this truth impart, A truth I tell with bleeding heart, (In justice for your labours past) That every day shall be your last; That every hour you life renew Is to your injured country due. 30 In spite of fears, of mercy spite, My genius still must rail, and write. ”

“ But be it (the punctilious laws of epic poesy so requiring) that a hero of more than mortal birth must needs be had, even for this we have a remedy. We can easily derive our hero's pedigree from a goddess of no small power and authority amongst men, and legitimate and install him after the right classical and authentic fashion: for like as the ancient sages found a son of Mars in a mighty warrior, a son of Neptune in a skilful seaman, a son of Phoebus in a harmonious poet, so have we here, if need be, a son of Fortune in an artful gamester. ”

“ What though the stars contract their heavenly space, And crowd their shining ranks to yield thee place; Though all the skies, ambitious of thy sway, Conspire to court thee from our world away; Though Phoebus longs to mix his rays with thine, And in thy glories more serenely shine; 40 Though Jove himself no less content would be To part his throne, and share his heaven with thee: Yet stay, great Cæsar! and vouchsafe to reign O'er the wide earth, and o'er the watery main; Resign to Jove his empire of the skies, And people heaven with Roman deities. ”

“ The next a fountain, spouting through his heir, In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst, And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst. Old Cotta shamed his fortune and his birth, Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth: What though (the use of barbarous spits forgot) His kitchen vied in coolness with his grot? 180 His court with nettles, moats with cresses stored, With soups unbought and salads bless'd his board? If Cotta lived on pulse, it was no more Than Brahmins, saints, and sages did before; To cram the rich was prodigal expense, And who would take the poor from Providence? ”

“ For all this wit is given us from our birth. Heaven gave to woman the peculiar grace 160 To spin, to weep, and cully human race. By this nice conduct and this prudent course, By murmuring, wheedling, stratagem, and force, I still prevail'd, and would be in the right, Or curtain lectures made a restless night. If once my husband's arm was o'er my side, 'What! so familiar with your spouse?' I cried: I levied first a tax upon his need; Then let him—'twas a nicety indeed! Let all mankind this certain maxim hold; 170 Marry who will, our sex is to be sold. ”

“ To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine! 250 That charm shall grow, while what fatigues the ring, Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: So when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight, All mild ascends the moon's more sober light, Serene in virgin modesty she shines, And unobserved the glaring orb declines. Oh! bless'd with temper, whose unclouded ray Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day; She, who can love a sister's charms, or hear Sighs for a daughter with unwounded ear; 260 She, who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rales him, never shows she rules ”

“ This wit, when exasperated into satire, is very formidable, for, like Addison's, it does its work with little noise. Pope whispers poetic perdition—he deals in drops of concentrated bitterness—he stabs with a poisoned bodkin—he touches his enemies into stone with the light and playful finger of a fairy—and his more elaborate invectives glitter all over with the polish of profound malignity. His knowledge of human nature, particularly of woman's heart, is great, but seems more the result of impish eavesdropping than of that thorough and genial insight which sympathy produces. ”

“ To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes, And Jove's own thunders follow Mars's drums. Arrest him, empress; or you sleep no more'— She heard, and drove him to the Hibernian shore. 70 And now had Fame's posterior trumpet blown, And all the nations summon'd to the throne. The young, the old, who feel her inward sway, One instinct seizes, and transports away. None need a guide, by sure attraction led, And strong impulsive gravity of head; None want a place, for all their centre found, Hung to the goddess, and cohered around. ”

“ Fame is at best an unperforming cheat; But 'tis substantial happiness to eat. Let ease, his last request, be of your giving, Nor force him to be damn'd to get his living.
PROLOGUE TO 'THE THREE HOURS AFTER MARRIAGE' Authors are judged by strange capricious rules; The great ones are thought mad, the small ones fools: Yet sure the best are most severely fated; For fools are only laugh'd at, wits are hated. Blockheads with reason men of sense abhor; But fool 'gainst fool, is barbarous civil war. Why on all authors, then, should critics fall? Since some have writ, and shown no wit at all. ”

“ Heaven knows how seldom things are what they seem! Consult your reason, and you soon shall find 'Twas you were jealous, not your wife unkind: Jove ne'er spoke oracle more true than this, None judge so wrong as those who think amiss.' 810 With that she leap'd into her lord's embrace, With well-dissembled virtue in her face. He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er, Disturb'd with doubts and jealousies no more: Both, pleased and bless'd, renew'd their mutual vows: A fruitful wife, and a believing spouse. ”

“ Or her, that owns her faults, but never mends, Because she's honest, and the best of friends. Or her, whose life the church and scandal share, For ever in a passion or a prayer. Or her, who laughs at hell, but (like her Grace15) Cries, 'Ah! how charming, if there's no such place!' Or who in sweet vicissitude appears Of mirth and opium, ratafia and tears, 110 The daily anodyne, and nightly draught, To kill those foes to fair ones—time and thought. Woman and fool are two hard things to hit; For true no-meaning puzzles more than wit. ”

“ In all, let Nature never be forgot. 50 But treat the goddess like a modest fair, Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare; Let not each beauty everywhere be spied, Where half the skill is decently to hide. He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds. Consult the genius of the place in all; That tells the waters or to rise, or fall; Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; 60 Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades ”

“ Fraternal rage, the guilty Thebes' alarms, Th' alternate reign destroy'd by impious arms, Demand our song; a sacred fury fires My ravish'd breast, and all the Muse inspires. O goddess! say, shall I deduce my rhymes From the dire nation in its early times, Europa's rape, Agenor's stern decree, And Cadmus searching round the spacious sea? How with the serpent's teeth he sow'd the soil, And reap'd an iron harvest of his toil? 10 Or how from joining stones the city sprung, While to his harp divine Amphion sung? Or shall I Juno's hate to Thebes resound, Whose fatal rage th' unhappy monarch found? ”

“ If on the sons the parents' crimes descend, 820 What prince from those his lineage can defend? Be this thy comfort, that 'tis thine t' efface, With virtuous acts, thy ancestors' disgrace, And be thyself the honour of thy race. But see! the stars begin to steal away, And shine more faintly at approaching day; Now pour the wine; and in your tuneful lays Once more resound the great Apollo's praise.' 'O father Phoebus! whether Lycia's coast And snowy mountains thy bright presence boast: 830 Whether to sweet Castalia thou repair, And bathe in silver dews thy yellow hair ”

“ Then with each word, each glance, each motion fired, You still enjoy'd, and yet you still desired, 60 Till, all dissolving, in the trance we lay, And in tumultuous raptures died away. The fair Sicilians now thy soul inflame; Why was I born, ye gods, a Lesbian dame? But ah, beware, Sicilian nymphs! nor boast That wandering heart which I so lately lost; Nor be with all those tempting words abused, Those tempting words were all to Sappho used. And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains, Have pity, Venus, on your poet's pains! ”