Page:An Essay on Man - Pope (1751).pdf/60

 Fame but from death a villain's name can save, As justice tears his body from the grave, When what t'oblivion better were resign'd, Is hung on high to poison half mankind. All fame is foreign but of true desert, Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: One self-approving hour whole years out-weighs Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas; And more true joy exil'd feels, Than with a senate at his heels. parts superior what advantage lyes? Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise? 'Tis but to know how little can be known; To see all others faults, and feel our own; Condemn'd in bus'ness, or in arts to drudge, Without a second or without a judge: Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand. Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view Above life's weakness, and its comforts too. then these blessings to a strict account, Make fair deductions, see to what they mount: How much of other each is sure to cost; How each for other oft is wholly lost; How inconsistent greater goods with these; How sometimes life is risk'd, and always ease: Think, and if still the things thy envy call, Say, Would'st thou be the man to whom they fall?