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Pope essay on man iii


pope essay on man iii

day, Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way? Rewards, that either would to virtue bring No joy, or be destructive of the thing: How oft by these at sixty are undone The virtues of a saint at twenty-one! While Man exclaims, See all things for my use!' See man for mine!' replies a pamper'd goose: And just as short of Reason he must fall, Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race, In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece; But by your fathers' worth if yours you rate, Count me those only who were good and great. Did here the trees with ruddier burdens bend, And there the streams in purer rills descend? Modes of self-love the passions we may call; 'Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all: But since not every good we can divide, And reason bids us for our own provide; Passions, though selfish, if their means be fair, List under Reason, and deserve. The bliss of Man (could Pride that blessing find) Is not to act or think beyond mankind; No pow'rs of body or of soul to share, But what his nature and his state can bear.



pope essay on man iii

See man for mine!
Replies a pamperd goose: And just as short of reason he must fall.
And find the means proportiond to their end.

pope essay on man iii

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OF THE nature AND state OF MAN with respect TO himself, AS AN individual. What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy, Is virtue's prize: A better would you fix? Count all the advantage prosperous vice attains, 'Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains: And grant the bad what happiness they would, One they must want, which is, to pass for good. Shall burning Etna, if a sage requires, Forget to thunder, and recall her fires? Self-love and reason to one end aspire, Pain their aversion, pleasure their desire; But greedy that, its object would devour, This taste the honey, and not wound the flower: Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood, Our greatest evil, or our greatest good. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

An, essay on, man - Wikipedia
An, essay on, man, by Alexander
Pope : epistle


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