Maxioms by Alexander Pope
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n;
But such plain read more
No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n;
But such plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
Accept a miracle; instead of wit,--
See two dull lines by Stanhope's pencil writ.
Accept a miracle; instead of wit,--
See two dull lines by Stanhope's pencil writ.
He that fights and runs away,
Will live to fight another day;
For he that runs may read more
He that fights and runs away,
Will live to fight another day;
For he that runs may fight again,
Which he can never do that's slain.
Deeper to wound she shuns the fight;
She drops her arms, to gain the field:
Secures her conquest by her flight:
And triumphs when she seems to yield.
Blessed is he who expects nothing for he shall never be disappointed.
Blessed is he who expects nothing for he shall never be disappointed.
Good sense which only is the gift of Heaven,
And though no science, fairly worth the seven.
Good sense which only is the gift of Heaven,
And though no science, fairly worth the seven.
