Alexander Pope

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

An honest man's the noblest work of God.

One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight;_x000D_ _x000D_ Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight.

Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?

New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise: So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try.

No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.

Why did I write? whose sin to me unknown_x000D_ _x000D_ Dipt me in ink, my parents', or my own?_x000D_ _x000D_ As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,_x000D_ _x000D_ I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.

Trace Science, then, with Modesty thy guide,_x000D_ _x000D_ First strip off all her equipage of Pride,_x000D_ _x000D_ Deduct what is but Vanity or Dress,_x000D_ _x000D_ Or Learning's Luxury or idleness,_x000D_ _x000D_ Or tricks, to show the stretch of the human brain_x000D_ _x000D_ Mere curious pleasure or ingenious pain.

He who serves his brother best gets nearer God than all the rest.

But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat,_x000D_ _x000D_ The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat,_x000D_ _x000D_ To closer shades the panting flocks remove;_x000D_ _x000D_ Ye gods! And is there no relief for love?

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn.

Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?

Atheists put on false courage and alacrity in the midst of their darkness and apprehensions, like children who, when they fear to go in the dark, will sing for fear.

Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend.

She went from opera, park, assembly, play,_x000D_ _x000D_ To morning walks, and prayers three hours a day._x000D_ _x000D_ To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,_x000D_ _x000D_ To muse, and spill her solitary tea,_x000D_ _x000D_ Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,_x000D_ _x000D_ Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon.

Say first, of god above or man below; what can we reason but from what we know.

Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.

The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read With loads of learned lumber in his head.

Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.