Quotes
Quotes - Pope
Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to truth, and moraliz'd his song.
Me let the tender office long engage
To rock the cradle of reposing age;
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death;
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep awhile one parent from the sky.
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
Satire's my weapon, but I 'm too discreet
To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
But touch me, and no minister so sore;
Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burden of some merry song.
Bare the mean heart that lurks behind a star.
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best,
Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.
Give me again my hollow tree,
A crust of bread, and liberty.
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.
When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one.
He's armed without that's innocent within.
Get place and wealth, if possible, with grace;
If not, by any means get wealth and place.
Above all Greek, above all Roman fame.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.
One simile that solitary shines
In the dry desert of a thousand lines.
Then marble soften'd into life grew warm,
And yielding, soft metal flow'd to human form.
Who says in verse what others say in prose.
Waller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full resounding line,
The long majestic march, and energy divine.
