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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Country
Faults
England
Stills
Still

More quotes by 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.
Charles Churchill
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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Charles Churchill
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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
Charles Churchill
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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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What is this world?--A term which men have got, To signify not one in ten knows what A term, which with no more precision passes To point out herds of men than herds of asses In common use no more it means, we find, Than many fools in same opinions joined.
Charles Churchill
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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
Charles Churchill
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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.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country.
Charles Churchill
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Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
Charles Churchill
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Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
Charles Churchill
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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.
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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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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Who, with tame cowardice familiar grown, would hear my thoughts, but fear to speak their own.
Charles Churchill
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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.
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.
Charles Churchill
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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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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
Charles Churchill
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Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
Charles Churchill