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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
Poor
Paltry
Reason
Conceit
Thing
Creature
Men
Drawn
Vain
Plan
Creatures
Pleas
Plans
Grate

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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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
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Genius is independent of situation.
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
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Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
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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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Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.
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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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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
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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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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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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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Genius is of no country.
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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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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.
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
Charles Churchill