Alexander Pope

To what base ends, and by what abject ways,
Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!

To what base ends, and by what abject ways,
Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!

Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave,
Is emulation in the learn'd or brave.

Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave,
Is emulation in the learn'd or brave.

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, read more

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

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.