Quote

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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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Common
Chiefs
Voice
Cells
Justice
Certain
Brain
Power
Secret
Reason
Call
Dwells
Within
Reign
Lord
Chief

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Though by whim, envy, or resentment led, they damn those authors whom they never read.
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
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Nature, through all her works, in great degree, Borrows a blessing from variety. Music itself her needful aid requires To rouse the soul, and wake our dying fires.
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Who all in raptures their own works rehearse, And drawl out measur'd prose, which they call verse.
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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.
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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Whom drink made wits, though nature made them fools.
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Genius is of no country.
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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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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.
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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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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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Constant attention wears the active mind, Blots out our pow'rs, and leaves a blank behind.
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Genius is independent of situation.
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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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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
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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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Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play'd And wonder'd at the work herself had made.
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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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