A while she stood
Transform'd by grief to marble, and appear'd
Her own pale monument; but when she breath'd
The secret anguish of her wounded soul;
So moving were the plaints! they wou'd have sooth'd
The stooping falcon to suspend his flight,
And spare his morning prey.
Beware of flatt'ry! 'tis a flow'ry weed,
Which oft offends the very idol-vice,
Whose shrine it would perfume.
Act IV, Scene V, p. 46
O blissful poverty!
Nature, too partial! to thy lot assigns
Health, freedom, innocence, and dow[n]y peace,
Her real goods: and only mocks the great
With empty pageantries!
Act V, Scene I, p. 56
Fear, guilt, despair, and moon-struck phrensy rush
On voluntary death: the wise and brave,
When the fierce storms of fortune round 'em roar,
Combat the billows with redoubled force:
Then, if they perish ere the port is gain'd,
They sink with decent pride; and from the deep
Honour retrieves them, bright as rising stars.
A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great:
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace.
Calmly he looked on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied,
Thanked Heaven that he lived, and that he died.
Alexander Pope, Epitaph to Elijah Fenton: "On Mr. Elijah Fenton", at Easthamstead in Berkshire, 1730.