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Who, with tame cowardice familiar grown, would hear my thoughts, but fear to speak their own.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Cowardice
Grown
Familiar
Thoughts
Hear
Fear
Speak
Would
Tame

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And reputation bleeds in ev'ry word.
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Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
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The best things carried to excess are wrong.
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Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
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What is this world?--A term which men have got, To signify not one in ten knows what A term, which with no more precision passes To point out herds of men than herds of asses In common use no more it means, we find, Than many fools in same opinions joined.
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With curious art the brain, too finely wrought, Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
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Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play'd And wonder'd at the work herself had made.
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No two on earth in all things can agree All have some darling singularity Women and men, as well as girls and boys, In gewgaws take delight, and sigh for toys, Your sceptres and your crowns, and such like things, Are but a better kind of toys for kings. In things indifferent reason bids us choose, Whether the whim's a monkey or a muse.
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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.
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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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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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Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
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The oak, when living, monarch of the wood The English oak, which, dead, commands the flood.
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With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
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Genius is of no country her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day.
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Genius is of no country.
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To copy faults is want of sense.
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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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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.
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