Alexander Pope

. . . th' approach of night
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews read more

. . . th' approach of night
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.

Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?

Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But shall the dignity of vice be lost?

Your scene precariously subsists too long,
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; read more

Your scene precariously subsists too long,
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage;
Be justly warm'd with your own native rage.

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear;
Who broke read more

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear;
Who broke no promise, served no private end,
Who gained no title, and who lost no friend,
Ennobled by himself, by all approved,
And praised, unenvied, by the Muse he loved.

Who know but He, whose hand the lightning forms,
Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms,
read more

Who know but He, whose hand the lightning forms,
Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms,
Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind.