Alexander Pope

See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs,
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings:
Short is his read more

See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs,
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings:
Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound,
Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.

No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n;
But such plain read more

No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n;
But such plain roofs as Piety could raise,
And only vocal with the Maker's praise.

Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent as more suitable;
A vile conceit read more

Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Appears more decent as more suitable;
A vile conceit in pompous words express'd,
Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd.

The flying rumours gather'd as the roll'd,
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
And all read more

The flying rumours gather'd as the roll'd,
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
And all who told it added something new.
And all who heard it made enlargements too.

Ask you what provocation I have had?
The strong antipathy of good to bad.

Ask you what provocation I have had?
The strong antipathy of good to bad.