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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Coupled
Strife
Sake
Couple
Wife
Together
Men

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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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Within the brain's most secret cells, A certain lord chief justice dwells, Of sov'reign power, whom one and all, With common voice we reason call.
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The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride True is the charge, nor by themselves denied. Are they not then in strictest reason clear, Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here?
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Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
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Nature, through all her works, in great degree, Borrows a blessing from variety. Music itself her needful aid requires To rouse the soul, and wake our dying fires.
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Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
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Great use they have, when in the hands Of one like me, who understands, Who understands the time and place, The person, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.
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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
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Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
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And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
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Who, with tame cowardice familiar grown, would hear my thoughts, but fear to speak their own.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.
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Genius is of no country.
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Truth! why shall every wretch of letters Dare to speak truth against his betters! Let ragged virtue stand aloof, Nor mutter accents of reproof Let ragged wit a mute become, When wealth and power would have her dumb.
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Satire, whilst envy and ill-humor sway The mind of man, must always make her way Nor to a bosom, with discretion fraught, Is all her malice worth a single thought. The wise have not the will, nor fools the power, To stop her headstrong course within the hour Left to herself, she dies opposing strife Gives her fresh vigor, and prolongs her life.
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Gipsies, who every ill can cure, Except the ill of being poor Who charms 'gainst love and agues sell, Who can in hen-roost set a spell, Prepar'd by arts, to them best known To catch all feet except their own, Who, as to fortune, can unlock it, As easily as pick a pocket.
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Though folly, robed in purple, shines, Though vice exhausts Peruvian mines, Yet shall they tremble and turn pale When satire wields her mighty flail.
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Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own.
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