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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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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Rehearse
Rapture
Verse
Verses
Prose
Poet
Works
Drawl
Call
Raptures

More quotes by 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.
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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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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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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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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
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Genius is of no country.
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Genius is independent of situation.
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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 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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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 mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
Charles Churchill
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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.
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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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
Charles Churchill
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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.
Charles Churchill