"Cease then, nor ORDER Imperfection name: Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree Of blindness, wea… - Alexander Pope

All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good.
And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear, 'Whatever is, is right.

Whatever is, is right.

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.

A little Learning is a dangerous Thing.

I have nothing to say for rhyme, but that I doubt whether a poem can support itself without it, in our language; unless it be stiffened with such strange words, as are likely to destroy our language itself.

But where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed:
Ask where's the North? at York, 'tis on the Tweed;
In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,
At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where:
No creature owns it in the first degree,
But thinks his neighbour farther gone than he!