As it is necessary for order, and the peace and welfare of Society, that external goods should be unequal, Happiness is not made to consist in these. But notwithstanding that inequality, the balance of Happiness among mankind is kept even by Providence, by the two passions of Hope and Fear, verse 29, etc. What the Happiness of individuals is, as far as is consistent with the constitution of this world; and that the good man has here the advantage. The error of imputing to virtue what are only the calamities of Nature, or of Fortune, verse 77, etc.
The folly of expecting that God should alter his general laws in favour of particulars, verse , etc. That we are not judges who are good; but that whoever they are, they must be happiest, verse , etc. That external goods are not the proper rewards, but often inconsistent with, or destructive of Virtue. That even these can make no man happy without Virtue:—instanced in Riches; Honours; Nobility; Greatness; Fame; Superior Talents, with pictures of human infelicity in men possessed of them all, verse , etc.
That Virtue only constitutes a Happiness, whose object is universal, and whose prospect eternal. That the perfection of Virtue and Happiness consists in a conformity to the Order of Providence here, and a resignation to it here and hereafter, verse , etc. Andover, March, A Pope. Ode on Solitude. Discourse on Pastoral Poetry. Spring; or, Damon. Summer; or, Alexis. Winter; or, Daphne. Sappho to Phaon. Part I.
Ode for Music on St. Tofts, a Famous Opera-Singer. Canto I. Prologue to Mr. Chorus of Athenians. John Moore. Ode to Quinbus Flestrin. Lemuel Gulliver. On Certain Ladies. Thomas Southern. To Erinna. A Question by Anonymous.
An Essay on Criticism by Alexander Pope | Poetry Foundation
On Charles, Earl of Dorset. Digby and of His Sister Mary.
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Elijah Fenton. Francis Atterbury. The Design. Of the Knowledge and Characters of Men. Of the Characters of Women. Of the Use of Riches. To Mr. Addison, occasioned by His Dialogue on Medals. Epistle to Dr. John Donne, Dean of St. Martinus Scriblerus of the Poem. Book III. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. Rather with Samuel I beseech with tears, Speak, gracious Lord, oh, speak, thy servant hears. Let them be silent then; and thou alone, My God!
Alexander pope essay on criticism analysis
Begone, ye Critics, and restrain your spite, Codrus writes on, and will forever write. When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre, Attentive blocks stand round you and admire. Right then there passen by the way His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway. Ducke in his trowses hath he hent, Not to be spied of ladies gent.
Bette is to pine on coals and chalke, Then trust on Mon whose yerde can talke. Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall, And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call. Orpheus could charm the trees; but thus a tree, Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he; A poet made the silent wood pursue; This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.
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Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, At random wounds, nor knows the wounds she gives; She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris while her lover dies. These silver drops, like morning dew, Foretell the fervor of the day: So from one cloud soft showers we view, And blasting lightnings burst away. But rebel Wit deserts thee oft in vain; Lost in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free, How Church and State should be obliged to thee! At Senate and at Bar how welcome wouldst thou be! She wears no colours sign of grace On any part except her face; All white and black beside: Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud, And masculine her stride. So have I seen, in black and white, A prating thing, a magpie hight, Majestically stalk; A stately worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.
So have I known those insects fair Which curious Germans hold so rare Still vary shapes and dyes; Still gain new titles with new forms; First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms, Then painted butterflies.
Pope's Essay on Criticism
You, that too wise for pride, too good for power, Enjoy the glory to be great no more, And carrying with you all the world can boast, To all the world illustriously are lost! Accept, O Garth! The hills and rocks attend my doleful lay, Why art thou prouder and more hard than they? Where stray ye, Muses! In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides, Or else where Cam his winding vales divides? Let other swains attend the rural care, Feed fairer flocks, or richer fleeces shear: But nigh yon mountain let me tune my lays, Embrace my love, and bind my brows with bays. For you the swains the fairest flowers design, And in one garland all their beauties join; Accept the wreath which you deserve alone, In whom all beauties are comprised in one.
Edition: current; Page: [ 24 ] See what delights in sylvan scenes appear! This harmless grove no lurking viper hides, But in my breast the serpent Love abides. Here bees from blossoms sip the rosy dew, But your Alexis knows no sweets but you. O deign to visit our forsaken seats, 71 The mossy fountains, and the green retreats! But see, the shepherds shun the noonday heat, The lowing herds to murmuring brooks retreat, To closer shades the panting flocks remove: Ye Gods!
But soon the sun with milder rays descends To the cool ocean, where his journey ends. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away!
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As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores; 20 Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by Summer, cease to sing, Edition: current; Page: [ 25 ] Ye trees, that fade when Autumn-heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love?
What have I said?
Come, Delia, come; ah, why this long delay? Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes! Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strain! Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful lay! And is there magic but what dwells in love? Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful strains! I know thee, Love! Farewell, ye woods; adieu the light of day! One leap from yonder cliff shall end my pains, No more, ye hills, no more resound my strains!
These thoughts he fortified with reasons still For none want reasons to confirm their will. Then let him choose a damsel young and fair, To bless his age, and bring a worthy heir; To soothe his cares, and, free from noise and strife, Conduct him gently to the verge of life. But what so pure which envious tongues will spare? With matchless impudence they style a wife The dear-bought curse and lawful plague of life, A bosom serpent, a domestic evil, A night-invasion, and a midday-devil. A Wife! Would men but follow what the sex advise, All things would prosper, all the world grow wise.
My soul abhors the tasteless dry embrace Of a stale virgin with a winter face: In that cold season Love but treats his guest With bean-straw, and tough forage at the best. No crafty widows shall approach my bed; Those are too wise for bachelors to wed. Old as I am, my lusty limbs appear Like winter-greens, that flourish all the year.