The poetical works of Alexander Pope. Ed. by R. Carruthers, Volume 4
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Page 76 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome : Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts and nothing long ; But in the course of one revolving moon Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Page 117 - Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings; Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : So well-bred spaniels civilly delight In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Page 87 - His gardens next your admiration call; On every side you look, behold the wall! No pleasing intricacies intervene, No artful wildness to perplex the scene ; Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other.
Page 112 - Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; "Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; Alike reserved to blame or to commend, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; Dreading e'en fools; by flatterers besieged, And so obliging that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause...
Page 106 - And to be grave, exceeds all power of face. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish, and an aching head; And drop at last, but in unwilling ears, This saving counsel, 'Keep your piece nine years.
Page 108 - The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?) The Queen of Midas slept, and so may I. You think this cruel? take it for a rule, No creature smarts so little as a fool.
Page 121 - 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...
Page 91 - Flood contain, The Mole projected break the roaring Main; Back to his bounds their subject Sea command, And roll obedient Rivers thro' the Land: These Honours, Peace to happy Britain brings, These are Imperial Works, and worthy Kings.
Page 117 - His wit all see-saw, between that and this, Now high, now low, now master up, now miss, And he himself one vile antithesis.
Page 62 - Like you, Sir John ? That I can do, when all I have is gone." Resolve me, Reason, which of these is worse, Want with a full, or with an empty purse...