Alexander Pope

Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower sky.

Know then, unnumber'd Spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower sky.

Where stray ye, Muses! in what lawn or grove,
. . . .
In those fair fields read more

Where stray ye, Muses! in what lawn or grove,
. . . .
In those fair fields where sacred Isis glides,
Or else where Cam his winding vales divides?

Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward steward for the poor.

Who sees pale Mammom pine amidst his store,
Sees but a backward steward for the poor.

To be, contents his natural desire,
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted read more

To be, contents his natural desire,
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Go wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense
Weigh thy opinion against Providence.

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
read more

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold--
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage.