Taste, that eternal wanderer, which flies From head to ears, and now from ears to eyes. — Alexander Pope
In every work regard the writer’s end, Since none can compass more than they intend. — Alexander Pope
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly! — Alexander Pope
Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace. — Alexander Pope
The heart resolves this matter in a trice, “Men only feel the smart, but not the vice. — Alexander Pope
Hear how the birds, on ev’ry blooming spray, With joyous musick wake the dawning day. — Alexander Pope
Sure of their qualities and demanding praise, more go to ruined fortunes than are raised. — Alexander Pope
Where’s the man who counsel can bestow, still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know. — Alexander Pope
Cursed be the verse, how well so e’er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe. — Alexander Pope
Let such teach others who themselves excel, And censure freely who have written well. — Alexander Pope
To happy convents, bosomed deep in vines, Where slumber abbots, purple as their wines. — Alexander Pope