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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
General
Genius
Pure
Country
Spreads
Abroad
Rays
Spread

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
Charles Churchill
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
Charles Churchill
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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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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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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To copy faults is want of sense.
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With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
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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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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
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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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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
Charles Churchill
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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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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.
Charles Churchill
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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
Charles Churchill
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Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
Charles Churchill
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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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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.
Charles Churchill