Alexander Pope

Who breaks a butterfly on a wheel?

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned, By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned!

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right.

Honor and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honor lies.

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Coffee, which makes the politician wise, And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

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

'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.