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Is generally regarded as the greatest English poet of the eighteenth century
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Alexander Pope's poems
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To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke
Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things
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What beck'ning ghost, along the moon-light shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
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Nothing so true as what you once let fall,
"Most Women have no Characters at all."
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Close by those meads, for ever crown'd with flow'rs,
Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs,
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Part 1
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I.
How happy he, who free from care
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In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
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He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part;
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Neque sermonibus vulgi dederis te, nec in præmiis spem posueris rerum tuarum; suiste oportet illecebris ipsa virtus trahat ad verum decus. Quid de te alii loquantur, ipsi videant,sed loquentur tamen.
(Cicero, De Re Publica VI.23)["... you will not any longer attend to the vulgar mob's gossip nor put your trust in human rewards for your deeds; virtue, through her own charms, should lead you to true glory. Let what others say about you be their concern; whatever it is, they will say it anyway."
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You know where you did despise
(Tother day) my little Eyes,
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Ne Rubeam, Pingui donatus Munere
(Horace, Epistles II.i.267)
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