Imitations Of English Poets. Earl Of Rochester: On Silence.

1 Silence! coeval with eternity;
Thou wert, ere Nature's self began to be,
'Twas one vast Nothing all, and all slept fast in thee.

2 Thine was the sway, ere heaven was form'd, or earth,
Ere fruitful Thought conceived Creation's birth,
Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.

3 Then various elements against thee join'd,
In one more various animal combined,
And framed the clamorous race of busy humankind.

4 The tongue moved gently first, and speech was low,
Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show,
And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.

5 But rebel Wit deserts thee oft in vain;
Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.

6 Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,
Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,
And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.

7 With thee in private modest Dulness lies,
And in thy bosom lurks in Thought's disguise;
Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise!

8 Yet thy indulgence is by both confess'd;
Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest.

9 Silence! the knave's repute, the whore's good name,
The only honour of the wishing dame;
Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of fame.

10 But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free,
How Church and State should be obliged to thee!
At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would'st thou be!

11 Yet Speech even there submissively withdraws
From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause:
Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy laws.

12 Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
What favourites gain, and what the nation owes,
Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.

13 The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy o' the gown,
Are best by thee express'd, and shine in thee alone.

14 The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry,
Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee,
All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.

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

Prologue To Mr Addison's 'Cato.'

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

The Looking-Glass.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

Epitaph I. On Charles Earl Of Dorset, In The Church Of Withyam, In Sussex.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

Extemporaneous Lines On A Portrait Of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, Painted By Kneller.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

English

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In Imitation Of E. Of Rochester : On Silence

I.
Silence! coeval with Eternity;
Thou wert, ere Nature's-self began to be,
'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee.

II.
Thine was the sway, ere heav'n was form'd, or earth,
Ere fruitful Thought conceiv'd creation's birth,
Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.

III.
Then various elements, against thee join'd,
In one more various animal combin'd,
And fam'd the clam'rous race of busy Human-kind.

IV.
The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low,
'Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show,
And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.

V.
But rebel Wit deserts thee oft' in vain;
Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.

VI....

Alexander Pope

The First Epistle Of The First Book Of Horace.

TO LORD BOLINGBROKE.

St John, whose love indulged my labours past,
Matures my present, and shall bound my last!
Why will you break the Sabbath of my days?
Now sick alike of envy and of praise.
Public too long, ah, let me hide my age!
See, modest Cibber now has left the stage:
Our generals now, retired to their estates,
Hang their old trophies o'er the garden gates,
In life's cool evening satiate of applause,
Nor fond of bleeding, even in Brunswick's cause.

A voice there is, that whispers in my ear,
('Tis reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear)
'Friend Pope! be prudent, let your Muse take breath,
And never gallop Pegasus to death;
Lest, still and stately, void of fire or force,
You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's horse.'

Fare...

Alexander Pope

The Satires Of Dr John Donne, Dean Of St Paul's,[171] Versified.

'Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili scripta legentes Quaerere, num illius, num rerum dura negarit Versiculos natura magis factos, et euntes Mollius?'

HOR.

Satire II.

Yes; thank my stars! as early as I knew
This town, I had the sense to hate it too:
Yet here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be still
One giant-vice, so excellently ill,
That all beside, one pities, not abhors;
As who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores.

I grant that poetry's a crying sin;
It brought (no doubt) the Excise and Army in:
Catch'd like the plague, or love, the Lord knows how,
But that the cure is starving, all allow
Yet like the papist's is the poet's state,
Poor and disarm'd, and hardly worth your hate!

Here a lean bard, whose wit could never give
Himself a dinner,...

Alexander Pope

Epilogue[177] To The Satires. In Two Dialogues.

(WRITTEN IN MDCCXXXVIII.)


DIALOGUE I.

Fr. Not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print,
And when it comes, the court see nothing in 't.
You grow correct, that once with rapture writ,
And are, besides, too moral for a wit.
Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel--
Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal?
'Tis all from Horace; Horace long before ye
Said, 'Tories call'd him Whig, and Whigs a Tory;'
And taught his Romans, in much better metre,
'To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter.'

But, Horace, sir, was delicate, was nice;
Bubo^[178] observes, he lash'd no sort of vice:
Horace would say, Sir Billy^[179] served the crown,
Blunt could do business, Huggins^[180] knew the town;
In Sappho touch the fail...

Alexander Pope

Epistle To Robert Earl Of Oxford And Earl Mortimer.

Such were the notes thy once-loved Poet sung,
Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue.
Oh just beheld and lost! admired and mourn'd!
With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd!
Blest in each science, blest in every strain!
Dear to the Muse! to Harley dear--in vain!

For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend,
Fond to forget the statesman in the friend;
For Swift and him, despised the farce of state,
The sober follies of the wise and great;
Dext'rous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleased to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear,
(A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear,)
Recall those nights that closed thy toilsome days,
Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays,
Who, careless now of interest, f...

Alexander Pope

Satires And Epistles Of Horace Imitated. - Satire I. To Mr Fortescue.[121]

SATIRES AND EPISTLES OF HORACE IMITATED. -


ADVERTISEMENT.

The occasion of publishing these 'Imitations' was the clamour raised on some of my 'Epistles.' An answer from Horace was both more full, and of more dignity, than any I could have made in my own person; and the example of much greater freedom in so eminent a divine as Dr Donne, seemed a proof with what indignation and contempt a Christian may treat vice or folly, in ever so low or ever so high a station. Both these authors were acceptable to the princes and ministers under whom they lived. The satires of Dr Donne I versified, at the desire of the Earl of Oxford while he was Lord Treasurer, and of the Duke of Shrewsbury who had been Secretary of State; neither of whom looked upon a satire on vicious courts as any reflection on those they served in. And, i...

Alexander Pope