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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
Charles Churchill
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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Commands
Wood
Flood
Command
Woods
English
Monarch
Dead
Monarchs
Living
Oaks
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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
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No two on earth in all things can agree All have some darling singularity Women and men, as well as girls and boys, In gewgaws take delight, and sigh for toys, Your sceptres and your crowns, and such like things, Are but a better kind of toys for kings. In things indifferent reason bids us choose, Whether the whim's a monkey or a muse.
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Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
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Genius is independent of situation.
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And reputation bleeds in ev'ry 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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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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The best things carried to excess are wrong.
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Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
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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.
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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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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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To copy faults is want of sense.
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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
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