alexander pope

Elena

My dad gave me some of the books that were my mother's and from her father, which were in my dad's library, today. In this book of Pope's poetry, I came across a slip of paper, which I had never seen before, but which was obviously for me, when I was going through my troubled times, having left the FOF.....

"Take time and a quiet moment or two, to read from these pages - but slowly -

There are many 'verses' in this book which make good advice - and written so long ago. You're not the only one who has come on adversity. many have survived. Why not you also?

This is one of your grand/father's books."

From the First Book of Horace, by Alexander Pope…..

“Not to admire, is all the art I know,
To make men happy, and to keep them so.”
(Plain truth, dear Murray, needs no flowers of speech,
So take it in the very words of Creech.)
This vault of air, this congregated bail
Self-centred sun, and stars that rise and fall,
There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes
Look through, and trust the Ruler with his skies,
To him commit the hour, the day, the year,
And view this dreadful All without a fear.
Admire we then what earth’s low entrails hold,
Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold;
All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold?
Or popularity? or stars and strings?
The mob’s applauses, or the gifts of kings?
Say with what eyes we ought at courts to gaze,
If weak the pleasure that from these can spring,
The fear to want them is as weak a thing:
Whether we dread, or whether we desire,
In either case, believe me, we admire;
Whether we joy or grieve, the same the curse,
Surprised at better, or surprised at worse.
Thus good or bad, to one extreme betray
The unbalanced mind, and snatch the man away;
For virtue’s self may too much zeal be had;
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
Go then, and if you can, admire the state
Of beaming diamonds, and reflected plate;
Procure a taste to double the surprise,
And gaze on Parian charms with learned eyes:
Be struck with bright brocade, or Tyrian dye,
Our birth-day nobles splendid livery.
To see their judgements hang upon thy voice;
From morn to night, at senate, rolls, and hall,
Plea much, read more, dine late, or not at all.
But wherefore all this labour, all this strife?
For fame, for riches, for a noble wife?
Shall one whom nature, learning, birth, conspired
To form, not to admire but be admired,
Sigh, while his Chloe blind to wit and worth
Weds the rich dullness of some son of earth?
Yet time ennobles, or degrades each line;
It brightened Cragg’s, and may darken thine:
And what is fame? the meanest have their day,
The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.
Graced as thou art, with all the power of words,
So known, so honoured, at the House of Lords:
Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,
(More silent far) where kings and poets lie;
Where Murray (long enough his country’s pride)
Shall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde!
Racked with sciatics, martyred with the stone,
Will any mortal let himself alone?
See Ward by battered beaux invited over,
And desperate misery lays hold on Dover.
The case is easier in the mind’s disease;
There all men may be cured, whene’er they please.
Would ye be blessed? despise low joys, low gains;
Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains:
Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.