Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle IV, To Richard Boyle,</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se <br>Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: <br>Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso, <br>Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae, <br>Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque<br>Extenuantis eas consulto.<br> (Horace, Satires, I, x, 17-22)<br> 'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ <br> To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy:<br> Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste<br> His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?<br> Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats;<br> Artists must choose his pictures, music, meats:<br> He buys for Topham, drawings and designs,<br> For Pembroke, statues, dirty gods, and coins;<br> Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone,<br> And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.<br> Think we all these are for himself? no more<br> Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> For what his Virro painted, built, and planted?<br> Only to show, how many tastes he wanted.<br> What brought Sir Visto's ill got wealth to waste?<br> Some daemon whisper'd, "Visto! have a taste."<br> Heav'n visits with a taste the wealthy fool,<br> And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule.<br> See! sportive fate, to punish awkward pride,<br> Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide:<br> A standing sermon, at each year's expense,<br> That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!<br> You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,<br> And pompous buildings once were things of use.<br> Yet shall (my Lord) your just, your noble rules<br> Fill half the land with imitating fools;<br> Who random drawings from your sheets shall take,<br> And of one beauty many blunders make;<br> Load some vain church with old theatric state,<br> Turn arcs of triumph to a garden gate;<br> Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all<br> On some patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall;<br> Then clap four slices of pilaster on't,<br> That lac'd with bits of rustic, makes a front.<br> Or call the winds through long arcades to roar,<br> Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;<br> Conscious they act a true Palladian part,<br> And, if they starve, they starve by rules of art.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Oft have you hinted to your brother peer,<br> A certain truth, which many buy too dear:<br> Something there is more needful than expense,<br> And something previous ev'n to taste--'tis sense:<br> Good sense, which only is the gift of Heav'n,<br> And though no science, fairly worth the sev'n:<br> A light, which in yourself you must perceive;<br> Jones and Le Notre have it not to give.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> To build, to plant, whatever you intend,<br> To rear the column, or the arch to bend,<br> To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot;<br> In all, let Nature never be forgot.<br> But treat the goddess like a modest fair,<br> Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare;<br> Let not each beauty ev'rywhere be spied,<br> Where half the skill is decently to hide.<br> He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,<br> Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Consult the genius of the place in all;<br> That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;<br> Or helps th' ambitious hill the heav'ns to scale,<br> Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;<br> Calls in the country, catches opening glades,<br> Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,<br> Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines;<br> Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul,<br> Parts answ'ring parts shall slide into a whole,<br> Spontaneous beauties all around advance,<br> Start ev'n from difficulty, strike from chance;<br> Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow<br> A work to wonder at--perhaps a Stowe.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Without it, proud Versailles! thy glory falls;<br> And Nero's terraces desert their walls:<br> The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make,<br> Lo! Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake:<br> Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain,<br> You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again.<br> Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,<br> Nor in an hermitage set Dr. Clarke.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Behold Villario's ten years' toil complete;<br> His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet;<br> The wood supports the plain, the parts unite,<br> And strength of shade contends with strength of light;<br> A waving glow his bloomy beds display,<br> Blushing in bright diversities of day,<br> With silver-quiv'ring rills meander'd o'er--<br> Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more;<br> Tir'd of the scene parterres and fountains yield,<br> He finds at last he better likes a field.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus stray'd,<br> Or sat delighted in the thick'ning shade,<br> With annual joy the redd'ning shoots to greet,<br> Or see the stretching branches long to meet!<br> His son's fine taste an op'ner vista loves,<br> Foe to the dryads of his father's groves;<br> One boundless green, or flourish'd carpet views,<br> With all the mournful family of yews;<br> The thriving plants ignoble broomsticks made,<br> Now sweep those alleys they were born to shade.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> At Timon's villa let us pass a day,<br> Where all cry out, "What sums are thrown away!"<br> So proud, so grand of that stupendous air,<br> Soft and agreeable come never there.<br> Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught<br> As brings all Brobdingnag before your thought.<br> To compass this, his building is a town,<br> His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:<br> Who but must laugh, the master when he sees,<br> A puny insect, shiv'ring at a breeze!<br> Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!<br> The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground.<br> Two cupids squirt before: a lake behind<br> Improves the keenness of the Northern wind.<br> His gardens next your admiration call,<br> On ev'ry side you look, behold the wall!<br> No pleasing intricacies intervene,<br> No artful wildness to perplex the scene;<br> Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,<br> And half the platform just reflects the other.<br> The suff'ring eye inverted Nature sees,<br> Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;<br> With here a fountain, never to be play'd;<br> And there a summerhouse, that knows no shade;<br> Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bow'rs;<br> There gladiators fight, or die in flow'rs;<br> Unwater'd see the drooping sea horse mourn,<br> And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> My Lord advances with majestic mien,<br> Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen:<br> But soft--by regular approach--not yet--<br> First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat;<br> And when up ten steep slopes you've dragg'd your thighs,<br> Just at his study door he'll bless your eyes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> His study! with what authors is it stor'd?<br> In books, not authors, curious is my Lord;<br> To all their dated backs he turns you round:<br> These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound.<br> Lo, some are vellum, and the rest as good<br> For all his Lordship knows, but they are wood.<br> For Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look,<br> These shelves admit not any modern book.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> And now the chapel's silver bell you hear,<br> That summons you to all the pride of pray'r:<br> Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,<br> Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven.<br> On painted ceilings you devoutly stare,<br> Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,<br> On gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,<br> And bring all paradise before your eye.<br> To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite,<br> Who never mentions Hell to ears polite.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;<br> A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall:<br> The rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace,<br> And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face.<br> Is this a dinner? this a genial room?<br> No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.<br> A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state,<br> You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.<br> So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear<br> Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.<br> Between each act the trembling salvers ring,<br> From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the King.<br> In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state,<br> And complaisantly help'd to all I hate,<br> Treated, caress'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,<br> Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;<br> I curse such lavish cost, and little skill,<br> And swear no day was ever pass'd so ill.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Yet hence the poor are cloth'd, the hungry fed;<br> Health to himself, and to his infants bread<br> The lab'rer bears: What his hard heart denies,<br> His charitable vanity supplies.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Another age shall see the golden ear<br> Embrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,<br> Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,<br> And laughing Ceres reassume the land.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> Who then shall grace, or who improve the soil?<br> Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle.<br> 'Tis use alone that sanctifies expense,<br> And splendour borrows all her rays from sense.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> His father's acres who enjoys in peace,<br> Or makes his neighbours glad, if he increase:<br> Whose cheerful tenants bless their yearly toil,<br> Yet to their Lord owe more than to the soil;<br> Whose ample lawns are not asham'd to feed<br> The milky heifer and deserving steed;<br> Whose rising forests, not for pride or show,<br> But future buildings, future navies, grow:<br> Let his plantations stretch from down to down,<br> First shade a country, and then raise a town.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341059" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> You too proceed! make falling arts your care,<br> Erect new wonders, and the old repair;<br> Jones and Palladio to themselves restore,<br> And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:<br> Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind,<br> Proud to accomplish what such hands design'd,<br> Bid harbours open, public ways extend,<br> Bid temples, worthier of the God, ascend;<br> Bid the broad arch the dang'rous flood contain,<br> The mole projected break the roaring main;<br> Back to his bounds their subject sea command,<br> And roll obedient rivers through the land;<br> These honours, peace to happy Britain brings,<br> These are imperial works, and worthy kings.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Alexander+Pope">Alexander Pope</a></strong></div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black