Egotism

Here's to the man who is wisest and best,
Here's to the man who with judgment is blest.
Here's to the man who's as smart as can be -
I mean the man who agrees with me.

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CCCXXXVIII. Games.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CXIV. Scholastic.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCXXI. Games.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DXXVIII. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Men

    Men are four:
He who knows and knows not that he knows, -
    He is asleep - wake him;
He who knows not and knows not that he knows not, -
    He is a fool - shun him;
He who knows not and knows that he knows not, -
    He is a child - teach him;
He who knows and knows that He knows, -
    He is a king - follow him.

Unknown

Man's Limitation

Man says that He is jealous,
Man says that He is wise,
Man says that He is watching
From His throne beyond the skies.

But perchance the arch above us
Is one great mirror's span,
And the Figure seen so dimly
Is a vast reflected man.

If it is love that gave us
A thousand blossoms bright,
Why should that love not save us
From poisoned aconite?

If this man blesses sunshine
Which sets his fields aglow,
Shall that man curse the tempest
That lays his harvest low?

If you may sing His praises
For health He gave to you,
What of this spine-curved cripple,
Shall he sing praises too?

If you may justly thank Him
For strength in mind and limb,
Then what of yonder weakling —
Must he give thanks to Him?

Arthur Conan Doyle

Epigram To A Conceited & Affected, But Handsome Woman

Why, when I praise you, Ma'am, why tell me flat,
    All flattery you despise?
Self-love, the greatest flatterer, tells you that,
    And I am sure he lies.

    *        *        *        *        *

What a strong contrast to most modern sages
Were some philosophers of ancient ages!
E'en Socrates, so wise, yet modest too,
Own'd he knew only that he nothing knew.
Now! vain pretenders such presumption show,
They seem to fancy that they all things know.
Ye moderns, thus puff'd up with vanity,
Would that ye knew but half as much as he!

Thomas Oldham

an epistle to the right honourable sir robert walpole.

        By Mr. Doddington, Afterwards Lord Melcombe.


        --Quæ censet amiculus, ut si
        Cæcus iter monstrare velit

                    HOR.


Though strength of genius, by experience taught,
Gives thee to sound the depths of human thought,
To trace the various workings of the mind,
And rule the secret springs, that rule mankind;
(Rare gift!) yet, Walpole, wilt thou condescend
To listen, if thy unexperienc'd friend
Can aught of use impart, though void of skill,
And win attention by sincere good-will;
For friendship, sometimes, want of parts supplies,
The heart may furnish what the head denies.
    As when the rapid Rhone, o'er swelling tides,
To grace old ocean's court, in triumph rides,
Tho' rich his source, he drains a th...

Edward Young

Satire Against Reason And Mankind

Were I (who to my cost already am
One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man)
A spirit free to choose, for my own share,
What case of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
I'd be a dog, a monkey or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal
Who is so proud of being rational.

The senses are too gross, and he'll contrive
A sixth, to contradict the other five,
And before certain instinct, will prefer
Reason, which fifty times for one does err;
Reason, an ignis fatuus in the mind,
Which, leaving light of nature, sense, behind,
Pathless and dangerous wandering ways it takes
Through error's fenny bogs and thorny brakes;
Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain
Mountains of whimseys, heaped in his own brain;
Stumbling from thought to thought, falls h...

John Wilmot

You

Here's to the world, the merry old world,
To its days both bright and blue;
Here's to our future, be it what it may,
And here's to my best - that's you!

Unknown