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