Alexander Pope

Pleas'd to the last he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.

Pleas'd to the last he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.

The sound must seem an echo to the sense.

The sound must seem an echo to the sense.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated need but to be seen;
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Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated need but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Be niggards of advice on no pretense;
For the worst avarice is that of sense.

Be niggards of advice on no pretense;
For the worst avarice is that of sense.

. . . 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.