Walter Pope

Walter Pope Poems

Walter Pope Biography

Walter Pope (c. 1627 – 1714) was an English astronomer and poet. He was born in Northamptonshire and was the half brother of John Wilkins, who would become bishop of Chester. He was educated at Wadham College, Oxford, with a BA in 1649, MA in 1651. Until the Restoration, he worked in Wadham College. In 1660, he became the professor of astronomy at Gresham College in London, taking over for Sir Christopher Wren, and he was also appointed dean of Wadham college. He became one of the earliest members of the Royal Society, and he was also made the registrar of the diocese of Chester. During the 1660's, he was active in the Royal Society, with two letters published in Philosophical Transactions in 1665 and 1666. He traveled to France and Italy and reported for the Royal Society from Italy. In 1686, he developed a severe eye infection, and he resigned his teaching post in 1687. In 1693, his collection of books burned. Anthony à Wood wrote of Pope as a libertine, and he published collections of poetry and translations in 1698, but others regarded him as pious and devout. He died in 1714 and left his money and belongings to a woman named Anne Shargold, who had cared for him in his illness. He was buried in St. Giles, Cripplegate.)

The Best Poem Of Walter Pope

The Old Man's Wish

If I live to be old, for I find I go down,
Let this be my fate: In a country town
May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate,
And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

Near a shady grove, and a murmuring brook,
With the ocean at distance, whereupon I may look,
With a spacious plain without hedge or stile,
And an easy pad-nag to ride out a mile.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

With Horace and Petrarch, and two or three more
Of the best wits that reign'd in the ages before,
With roast mutton, rather than ven'son or veal,
And clean though coarse linen at every meal.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

With a pudding on Sundays, with stout humming liquor,
And remnants of Latin to welcome the vicar,
With Monte-Fiascone or Burgundy wine,
To drink the King's health as oft as I dine.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

With a courage undaunted may I face my last day,
And when I am dead may the better sort say,
In the morning when sober, in the evening when mellow,
He's gone, and left not behind him his fellow.
May I govern my passion with an absolute sway,
And grow wiser and better as my strength wears away,
Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

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