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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Commends
Lavishly
Hurts
Praise
Hurt

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
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Drawn by conceit from reason's plan How vain is that poor creature man How pleas'd in ev'ry paltry elf To grate about that thing himself.
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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
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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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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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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.
Charles Churchill
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And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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Enough of satire in less harden'd times Great was her force, and mighty were her rhymes. I've read of men, beyond man's daring brave, Who yet have trembled at the strokes she gave Whose souls have felt more terrible alarms From her one line, than from a world in arms.
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Who, with tame cowardice familiar grown, would hear my thoughts, but fear to speak their own.
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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
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Old Age, a second child, by nature curst With more and greater evils than the first, Weak, sickly, full of pains: in ev'ry breath Railing at life, and yet afraid of death.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country.
Charles Churchill
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The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.
Charles Churchill
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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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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Charles Churchill