I think it was a generous thought, and one that fow'd from an exalted mind, that it was not improbable but God might be delighted with the various me… - Alexander Pope

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

Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine 105 Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. Methinks already I your tears survey, Already hear the horrid things they say, Already see you a degraded toast, And all your honour in a whisper lost! 110 How shall I, then, your helpless fame

In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere and rush into the skies.
Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes,
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.
Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell,
Aspiring to be angels, men rebel.