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abused admire ancient appear called cause character court cries critics Dennis divine Dulness Dunciad Essay eyes face fair fame father fool gave give goddess grace half hand happy hath head hear heart hero Homer honour IMITATIONS John Journal keep king land late learned less Letter light live Lord manner mean mind moral muse nature never o'er once person play poem poet poetry poor Pope praise printed published queen REMARKS rest Richard Blackmore rise round satire sense sing sons soul sure Swift taste tell thee thing thou thought town translation true truth turn verse VIRG virtue whole wings writ write youth
Stran 14 - 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.
Stran 358 - See Mystery to Mathematics fly ! In vain ! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restor'd; Light dies before thy uncreating word: Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall; And universal darkness buries all.
Stran 115 - Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see Men not afraid of God, afraid of me: Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, Yet touch'd and sham'd by Ridicule alone.
Stran 7 - And, when I die, be sure you let me know Great Homer died three thousand years ago. Why did I write? what sin to me unknown Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own? As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Stran 16 - If on a pillory, or near a throne, He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own. Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, Sappho can tell you how this man was bit...
Stran 8 - Pretty ! in amber to observe the forms Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms ! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.
Stran 139 - Unblam'd through life, lamented in thy end, These are thy honours ! not that here thy bust Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust ; But that the worthy and the good shall say, Striking their pensive bosoms — Here lies GAY...
Stran 3 - Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song) What drop or nostrum can this plague remove ? Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love ? A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, If foes, they write, — if friends, they read me dead.
Stran 358 - Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand opprest, Clos'd one by one to everlasting rest; Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, Art after Art goes out, and all is Night: See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of Casuistry heap'd o'er her head!