Alexander Pope

Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; The rest is all but leather or prunello.

The young disease, that must subdue at length, Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.

Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise; Laugh where we must, be candid where we can, But vindicate the ways of God to man.

'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

But Satan now is wiser than of yore, And tempts by making rich, not making poor.

What beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

Whatever is, is right.

Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade: Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas; And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels Than Cæsar with a senate at his heels. In parts superior what advantage lies? Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 'T is but to know how little can be known; To see all others' faults, and feel our own.