Maxioms by Alexander Pope
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day read more
Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain,
With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold;
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something read more
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold;
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something said of Chartres much too rough.
Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.
Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head and lies.
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
