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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.
Charles Churchill
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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Death
Afraid
Curst
Nature
Second
Railing
Firsts
Full
Sickly
First
Child
Pains
Children
Greater
Evils
Life
Age
Breath
Evil
Breaths
Pain
Weak
More quotes by Charles Churchill
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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Patience is sorrow's salve.
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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
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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.
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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When fiction rises pleasing to the eye, men will believe, because they love the lie but truth herself, if clouded with a frown, must have some solemn proof to pass her down.
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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
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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
Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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By different methods different men excel, but where is he who can do all things well?
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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.
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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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Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
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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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If you mean to profit, learn to praise.
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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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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
Charles Churchill
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.
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