There St. John Mingles With My Friendly Bowl, The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

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There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
-- Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
-- Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace, Satire i, Book ii, Line 127

Satire 's my weapon, but I 'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
Bare the mean heart that lurks behind a star.
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best, Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.
Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread, and liberty.
Above all Greek, above all Roman fame.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old.
Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise.
The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.

There St. John Mingles With My Friendly Bowl, The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

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