"But each Man's secret Standard in his Mind, / That casting Weight, Pride adds to Emptiness"
— Pope, Alexander (1688-1744)
Author
Work Title
Date
1727
Metaphor
"But each Man's secret Standard in his Mind, / That casting Weight, Pride adds to Emptiness"
Metaphor in Context
Are others angry? I excuse them too,
Well may they rage; I give them but their Due.
Each Man's true Merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each Man's secret Standard in his Mind ,
That casting Weight, Pride adds to Emptiness;
This, who can gratify ? For who can guess ?
The Wretch whom pilfer'd Pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian Tale for half a Crown,
Just writes to make his Barrenness appear,
And strains, from hard bound Brains, six Lines a Year;
In Sense still wanting, tho' he lives on Theft,
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:
Johnson , who now to Sense, now Nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a Meaning;
And he, whose Fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not Poetry, but Prose run mad:
Should modest Satire bid all these translate ,
And own that nine such Poets make a Tate ;
How would they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe!
How would they swear, not Congreve 's self was safe!
(ll. 23-43, p. 491)
Well may they rage; I give them but their Due.
Each Man's true Merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each Man's secret Standard in his Mind ,
That casting Weight, Pride adds to Emptiness;
This, who can gratify ? For who can guess ?
The Wretch whom pilfer'd Pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian Tale for half a Crown,
Just writes to make his Barrenness appear,
And strains, from hard bound Brains, six Lines a Year;
In Sense still wanting, tho' he lives on Theft,
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:
Johnson , who now to Sense, now Nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a Meaning;
And he, whose Fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not Poetry, but Prose run mad:
Should modest Satire bid all these translate ,
And own that nine such Poets make a Tate ;
How would they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe!
How would they swear, not Congreve 's self was safe!
(ll. 23-43, p. 491)
Categories
Provenance
HDIS
Citation
Pope, Alexander. The Poems of Alexander Pope. A One-Volume Edition of the Twickenham Text with Selected Annotations. Ed. John Butt. New Haven: Yale UP, 1963.
Date of Entry
09/29/2003
