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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends 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
Hurts
Dread
Commends
Friendship
Lavishly
Hurt
Dreads
Friends
Foes
Foe
Greatly

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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
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Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
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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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Amongst the sons of men how few are known Who dare be just to merit not their own.
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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
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The surest way to health, say what they will, Is never to suppose we shall be ill Most of the ills which we poor mortals know From doctors and imagination flow.
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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.
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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
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Enough of self, that darling luscious theme, O'er which philosophers in raptures dream Of which with seeming disregard they write Then prizing most when most they seem to slight.
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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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Genius is of no country.
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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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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
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To copy faults is want of sense.
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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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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
Charles Churchill