Epigram On One Who Made Long Epitaphs.[129]

Friend, for your epitaphs I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be believed,
The other never read.

Alexander Pope

Alexander Pope was an English poet, best known for his satirical verse, including 'The Rape of the Lock' and 'The Dunciad'. He is the second-most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations after Shakespeare. Pope was one of the greatest English poets and the foremost poet of the early 18th century. He also translated Homer. Despite suffering from numerous health problems, Pope made a significant impact on English literature and is remembered for his sharp wit and mastery of the heroic couplet.

Alexander Pope

Two Or Three: A Recipe To Make A Cuckold

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

To Mr John Moore, Author Of The Celebrated Worm-Powder.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

From An Essay On Man

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

Impromptu To Lady Winchelsea.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

English

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Epitaph XVI. Another, On The Same.

Under this marble, or under this sill,
Or under this turf, or e'en what they will;
Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,
Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head,
Lies one who ne'er cared, and still cares not a pin
What they said, or may say, of the mortal within:
But who, living and dying, serene still and free,
Trusts in God, that as well as he was, he shall be.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph XV. For One Who Would Not Be Buried In Westminster Abbey.

Heroes and kings! your distance keep:
In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Alexander Pope

Epigram.

A Bishop, by his neighbours hated,
Has cause to wish himself translated:
But why should Hough desire translation,
Loved and esteem'd by all the nation?
Yet, if it be the old man's case,
I'll lay my life I know the place:
'Tis where God sent some that adore Him,
And whither Enoch went before him.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph X. On Mr Elijah Fenton,[1] At Easthamstead, In Berks, 1730.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say, Here lies an honest man:
A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great:
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace.
Calmly he look'd on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied,
Thank'd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph On Lord Coningsby.

Here lies Lord Coningsby--be civil!
The rest God knows--perhaps the Devil.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph On A Friend.

By painful sickness long severely prest,
Here sinks, on Nature's sacred lap of rest,
A friend, who, in a life too short, display'd
A mind in virtue bright, without one shade.
Hence with unusual grief is Fondness mov'd,
Hence more than Pity's sighs for one belov'd;
Unshaken Honour sheds a manly tear,
And weeping Virtue stops, a mourner here.

John Carr