Maxioms by Alexander Pope
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.
Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold;
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something read more
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold;
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something said of Chartres much too rough.
In various talk th' instructive hours they past,
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;
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In various talk th' instructive hours they past,
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;
One speaks the glory of the British queen,
And one describes a charming Indian screen;
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes;
At every word a reputation dies.
Not to go back is somewhat to advance, and men must walk, at least, before they dance.
Not to go back is somewhat to advance, and men must walk, at least, before they dance.
