Alexander Pope (1688–1744)

A

A manly Form; a bold, yet modest mind

Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things

B

Behold the woes of matrimonial life

But anxious cares the pensive nymph opprest

C

Close by those meads, for ever crown’d with flowers

F

Father of All! in every Age

H

Happy the man, whose wish and care

How much, egregious Moor, are we

I

In that soft season, when descending showers

In these deep solitudes and awful cells

K

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan

N

Not with more glories, in th’ ethereal plain

O

Oh Happiness! our being’s end and aim!

S

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears

Shut, shut the door, good John!’ fatigued, I said

T

There liv’d in Lombardy, as authors write

Thy forests, Windsor! and thy green retreats

To thee, sweet Fop, these Lines I send

W

What dire offence from am’rous causes springs

While maudlin Whigs deplor’d their Cato’s Fate