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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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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Men
Drawn
Vain
Plan
Creatures
Pleas
Plans
Grate
Poor
Paltry
Reason
Conceit
Thing
Creature

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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
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And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
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Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
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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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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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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.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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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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It can't be Nature, for it is not sense.
Charles Churchill
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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Charles Churchill
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Genius is independent of situation.
Charles Churchill
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Great use they have, when in the hands Of one like me, who understands, Who understands the time and place, The person, manner, and the grace, Which fools neglect so that we find, If all the requisites are join'd, From whence a perfect joke must spring, A joke's a very serious thing.
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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.
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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
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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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To copy faults is want of sense.
Charles Churchill
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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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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Truth! why shall every wretch of letters Dare to speak truth against his betters! Let ragged virtue stand aloof, Nor mutter accents of reproof Let ragged wit a mute become, When wealth and power would have her dumb.
Charles Churchill