Quotes by Alexander Pope

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man: A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great: Foe to loud praise, and friend to learnèd ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thank'd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died. XI. ON MR GAY, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1732. Of manners gentle, of affections mild; In wit, a man; simplicity, a child: With native humour tempering virtuous rage, Form'd to delight at once and lash the age: Above temptation in a low estate, And uncorrupted, even among the great: A safe companion, and an easy friend, Unblamed 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. XII. INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. ISAACUS NEWTONUS: QUEM IMMORTALEM TESTANTUR TEMPUS, NATURA, COELUM: MORTALEM HOC MARMOR FATETUR. Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night God said, Let Newton be! and all was light. XIII. ON DR FRANCIS ATTERBURY,[84] BISHOP OF ROCHESTER, WHO DIED IN EXILE AT PARIS, 1732. SHE. Yes, we have lived--one pang, and then we part! May Heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart. Yet ah! how once we loved, remember still, Till you are dust like me. HE. Dear shade! I will: Then mix this dust with thine--O spotless ghost! O more than fortune, friends, or country lost! Is there on earth one care, one wish beside? Yes--Save my country, Heaven! --He said, and died. XIV. ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, WHO DIED IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF HIS AGE, 1735. If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd, And every opening virtue blooming round, Could save a parent's justest pride from fate, Or add one patriot to a sinking state; This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear, Or sadly told how many hopes lie here! The living virtue now had shone approved, The senate heard him, and his country loved. Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham: In whom a race, for courage famed and art, Ends in the milder merit of the heart; And chiefs or sages long to Britain given, Pays the last tribute of a saint to Heaven.