Alexander Pope
Eloisa to Abelard
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav’nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal’s veins? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my
The Rape of the Lock: Canto 5
She said: the pitying audience melt in tears, But Fate and Jove had stopp’d the Baron’s ears. In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, For who can move when fair Belinda fails? Not half so
Lines on Curll
So when Curll’s Stomach the strong Drench o’ercame, (Infus’d in Vengenance of insulted Fame) Th’ Avenger sees, with a delighted Eye, His long Jaws open, and his Colour fly; And while his Guts the
Two Or Three: A Recipe To Make A Cuckold
Two or three visits, and two or three bows, Two or three civil things, two or three vows, Two or three kisses, with two or three sighs, Two or three Jesus’s – and let
An Essay on Man in Four Epistles: Epistle 1
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look
From an Essay on Man
Heav’n from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescrib’d, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The
The Rape of the Lock: Canto 4
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress’d, And secret passions labour’d in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seiz’d alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, Not ardent lovers robb’d of all
Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady
What beck’ning ghost, along the moon-light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? ‘Tis she! but why that bleeding bosom gor’d, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly!
The Rape of the Lock
Part 1 WHAT dire Offence from am’rous Causes springs, What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things, I sing This Verse to C -, Muse! is due; This, ev’n Belinda may vouchfafe to view: Slight
Ode on Solitude
Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him
Impromptu, to Lady Winchelsea
In vain you boast Poetic Names of yore, And cite those Sapho’s we admire no more: Fate doom’d the Fall of ev’ry Female Wit, But doom’d it then when first Ardelia writ. Of all
The Iliad: Book VI (excerpt)
He said, and pass’d with sad presaging heart To seek his spouse, his soul’s far dearer part; At home he sought her, but he sought in vain: She, with one maid of all her
Summer
See what delights in sylvan scenes appear! Descending Gods have found Elysium here. In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray’d, And chaste Diana haunts the forest shade. Come lovely nymph, and bless the silent
Universal Prayer
Father of all! In every age, In ev’ry clime ador’d, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confin’d To know
Essay on Man
The First Epistle Awake, my ST. JOHN!(1) leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Let us (since Life can little more supply Than just to look about us and
Couplets on Wit
I But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne. II Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest Who to be saved by
EPISTLE II: TO A LADY (Of the Characters of Women)
NOTHING so true as what you once let fall, “Most Women have no Characters at all.” Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguish’d by black, brown, or fair. How many
The Rape of the Lock: Canto 3
Close by those meads, for ever crown’d with flow’rs, Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow’rs, There stands a structure of majestic frame, Which from the neighb’ring Hampton takes its name. Here Britain’s
The Rape of the Lock: Canto 2
Not with more glories, in th’ etherial plain, The sun first rises o’er the purpled main, Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams Launch’d on the bosom of the silver Thames. Fair nymphs,
The Rape of the Lock: Canto 1
Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos; Sedjuvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis. (Martial, Epigrams 12.84) What dire offence from am’rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things, I sing This verse to Caryl,
Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu’d, I said, Tie up the knocker, say I’m sick, I’m dead. The dog-star rages! nay ’tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire
On a certain Lady at Court
I know the thing that’s most uncommon; (Envy be silent and attend!) I know a Reasonable Woman, Handsome and witty, yet a Friend. Not warp’d by Passion, aw’d by Rumour, Not grave thro’ Pride,
The Riddle of the World
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan The proper study of Mankind is Man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A Being darkly wise, and rudely great: With too much knowledge
Solitude: An Ode
I. How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breaths his native air, In his own grounds. II. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Sound And Sense
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance. ‘Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Solitude
Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him
You Know Where You Did Despise
You know where you did despise (Tother day) my little Eyes, Little Legs, and little Thighs, And some things, of little Size, You know where. You, tis true, have fine black eyes, Taper legs,
Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle IV, To Richard Boyle
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso, Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae, Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque Extenuantis eas
Imitations of Horace: The First Epistle of the Second Book
Ne Rubeam, Pingui donatus Munere (Horace, Epistles II. i.267) While you, great patron of mankind, sustain The balanc’d world, and open all the main; Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend, At home, with
An Essay On Criticism
‘Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill Appear in Writing or in Judging ill, But, of the two, less dang’rous is th’ Offence, To tire our Patience, than mis-lead our Sense: Some
The Dying Christian to His Soul
Vital spark of heav’nly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying, O the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life.
Argus
When wise Ulysses, from his native coast Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss’d, Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone, To all his friends, and ev’n his Queen unknown, Changed as