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Weak is that throne, and in itself unsound, Which takes not solid virtue for its ground.

Charles Churchill

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Charles Churchill
Died: 1764
Died: November 4
Poet
Writer
City of Westminster
Throne
Thrones
Solid
Ground
Weak
Virtue
Takes
Unsound

More quotes by Charles Churchill

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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
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The best things carried to excess are wrong.
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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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Even in a hero's heart Discretion is the better part.
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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.
Charles Churchill
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The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown To saints whose lives are better than his own.
Charles Churchill
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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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Wit, who never once Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
Charles Churchill
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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.
Charles Churchill
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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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Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
Charles Churchill
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Nature listening stood, whilst Shakespeare play'd And wonder'd at the work herself had made.
Charles Churchill
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Quick-circulating slanders mirth afford and reputation bleeds in every word.
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.
Charles Churchill
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Man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife.
Charles Churchill
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Be England what she will, With all her faults she is my country still.
Charles Churchill
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He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
Charles Churchill
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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.
Charles Churchill