"View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; Alike reserved to blame or to commend, A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend; Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging that he ne'er obliged; Like Cato, give his little Senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause."

"The Imitations of Horace seem to have been written as relaxations of his [Pope's] genius. This employment became his favourite by its facility; the plan was ready to his hand, and nothing was required but to accommodate as he could the sentiments of an old author to recent facts or familiar images; but what is easy is seldom excellent: such imitations cannot give pleasure to common readers. The man of learning may be sometimes surprised and delighted by an unexpected parallel; but the comparison requires knowledge of the original, which will likewise often detect strained applications. Between Roman images and English manners there will be an irreconcileable dissimilitude, and the work will be generally uncouth and party-coloured; neither original nor translated, neither ancient nor modern."

"Wit that can creep and pride that licks the dust."

"Philosophy, that lean'd on heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense!"

"Judicious drank, and greatly daring din'd."

"Religion blushing veils her sacred fires, And unawares Morality expires. Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine; Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine! Lo! thy dread empire Chaos! is restored: Light dies before thy uncreating word; Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall, And universal darkness buries all."

"The Right Divine of Kings to govern wrong."

"To aid our cause, if Heav'n thou can'st not bend, Hell thou shalt move."

"Stuff the head With all such reading as was never read: For thee explain a thing till all men doubt it, And write about it, Goddess, and about it."

"[P]erhaps the best specimen that has yet appeared of personal satire ludicrously pompous."

"Till Peter's keys some christen'd Jove adorn, And Pan to Moses lends his pagan horn."

"A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead."

"Peeled, patched, and piebald, linsey-woolsey brothers, Grave mummers! sleeveless some, and shirtless others. That once was Britain."

"Or where the pictures for the page atone, And Quarles is saved by beauties not his own."

"Now night descending, the proud scene was o'er, But lived in Settle's numbers one day more."

"Soon to that mass of nonsense to return, Where things destroy'd are swept to things unborn."

"All crowd, who foremost shall be damn'd to fame."

"Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said; Tie up the knocker! say I'm sick, I'm dead."

"That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long, But stoop'd to truth, and moraliz'd his song."

"Who pants for glory finds but short repose: A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows."

"As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came."

"Destroy his fib, or sophistry — in vain! The creature's at his dirty work again."

"E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me."

"Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land."

"Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair, And heard thy everlasting yawn confess The pains and penalties of idleness."

"Led by my hand, he sauntered Europe round, And gathered every vice on Christian ground."

"O thou! whatever title please thine ear, Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver! Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air, Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair."

"Poetic Justice, with her lifted scale, Where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs, And solid pudding against empty praise."

"While pensive poets painful vigils keep, Sleepless themselves to give their readers sleep."

"Next o'er his books his eyes begin to roll, In pleasing memory of all he stole; How here he sipp'd, how there he plunder'd snug, And suck'd all o'er like an industrious bug."

"How index-learning turns no student pale, Yet holds the eel of science by the tail."

"And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke."

"But blind to former, as to future Fate, What mortal knows his pre-existent state?"

"Another, yet the same."

"Our fruitless labours mourn, And only rich in barren fame return."

"Bentely] and Pope, soon after the publication of Homer, met at Dr. Mead's at dinner; when Pope, desirous of his opinion of the translation, addressed him thus: "Dr. Bentley, I ordered my bookseller to send you your books; I hope you received them." Bentley, who had purposely avoided saying any thing about Homer, pretended not to understand him, and asked, 'Books! books! what books?' 'My Homer,' replied Pope, 'which you did me the honour to subscribe for.'—'Oh,' said Bentley, 'ay, now I recollect—your translation:—it is a pretty poem, Mr. Pope; but you must not call it Homer.'"

"No more was seen the human form divine."

"It is certainly the noblest version of poetry which the world has ever seen; and its publication must therefore be considered as one of the great events in the annals of learning."

"The rights, powers, and pretensions of the sovereign of Olympus, are very clearly described in the xvth book of the Iliad: in the Greek original, I mean; for Mr. Pope, without perceiving it, has improved the theology of Homer."

"Rare gift! but oh what gift to fools avails!"

"And not a man appears to tell their fate."

"Strong are her sons, though rocky are her shores."

"I mentioned the vulgar saying, that Pope's Homer was not a good representation of the original. JOHNSON. "Sir, it is the greatest work of the kind that has ever been produced.""

"Lotus, the name; divine, nectareous juice!"

"I have as yet read only to the end of the eighth Iliad; but, as far as I can judge, this is one of the finest translations in the English language; and, what is very extraordinary, it appears to the best advantage when compared with the original. I have read both carefully so far, and written remarks as I went along, and I think I can prove that, where Pope has omitted one beauty, he has added or improved four."

"[Pope's] translation of the Iliad will remain a lasting monument to his honour, as the most elegant and highly finished translation, that, perhaps, ever was given of any poetical work."

"[A] poetical wonder ... a performance which no age or nation can pretend to equal."

"Respect us human, and relieve us poor."

"Can living eyes behold the realms below? What bark to waft me, and what wind to blow?"

"Behold on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong!"