Page:An Essay on Criticism - Pope (1711).pdf/37

When mellowing Time does full Perfection give,
And each Bold Figure just begins to Live;
The treach'rous Colours the few Years decay,
And all the bright Creation fades away!
Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken Things,
Repays not half that Envy which it brings:
In Youth alone its empty Praise we boast,
But soon the Short-liv'd Vanity is lost!
Like some fair Flow'r the in the Spring does rise,
That gaily Blooms, but ev'n in blooming Dies.
What is this Wit that does our Cares employ?
The Owner's Wife, that other Men enjoy,
Then more his Trouble as the more admir'd,
Where wanted, scorn'd, and envy'd where acquir'd;
Maintain'd with Pains, but forfeited with Ease;
Sure some to vex, but never all to please;
'Tis what the Vicious fear, the Virtuous shun;
By Fools 'tis hated, and by Knaves undone!
Too much does Wit from Ign'rance undergo,
Ah let not Learning too commence its Foe!

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