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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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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Better
Rigid
Saints
Shown
Saint
Mercy
Whose
Religion
Lives

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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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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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is of no country.
Charles Churchill
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Who to patch up his fame, or fill his purse, Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known, Defacing first, then claiming for his own.
Charles Churchill
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Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
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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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Charles Churchill
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Tis mighty easy o'er a glass of wine On vain refinements vainly to refine, To laugh at poverty in plenty's reign, To boast of apathy when out of pain, And in each sentence, worthy of the schools, Varnish'd with sophistry, to deal out rules Most fit for practice, but for one poor fault That into practice they can ne'er be brought.
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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Genius is independent of situation.
Charles Churchill
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England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars, could boast Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea.
Charles Churchill
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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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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
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
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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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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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?
Charles Churchill
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Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
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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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