Alexander Pope

And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.

And solid pudding against empty praise.

And solid pudding against empty praise.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
Receives the lurking principle of death,
The younger disease, read more

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
Receives the lurking principle of death,
The younger disease, that must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.