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.

Th' embroider'd suit at least he deem'd his prey;
That suit an unpaid tailor snatched away.

Th' embroider'd suit at least he deem'd his prey;
That suit an unpaid tailor snatched away.

Fondly we think we honor merit then, When we but praise ourselves in other men.

Fondly we think we honor merit then, When we but praise ourselves in other men.

With him most authors steal their works, or buy;
Garth did not write his own Dispensary.

With him most authors steal their works, or buy;
Garth did not write his own Dispensary.

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.