Alexander Pope

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,

And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

What dire offence from amorous causes springs,

What mighty contests rise from trivial things!

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

Coffee, which makes the politician wise,

And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.

But when mischief mortals bend their will,

How soon they find fit instruments of ill!

Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey,

Dost sometimes counsel take — and sometimes tea.

Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast,

When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe their last.

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,

And beauty draws us with a single hair.

If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.

At every word a reputation dies.