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Virtue alone has majesty in death.

Edward Young

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Edward Young
Died: 1765
Died: April 5
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Upham
Hampshire
Death
Majesty
Dying
Virtue
Alone

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Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.
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As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
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A dedication is a wooden leg.
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Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man.
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He that's ungrateful has no guilt but one All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
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An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave legions of angels can't confine me there.
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A Christian is the highest style of man.
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Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
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The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
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The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
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One to destroy, is murder by the law and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.
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Oh, how portentous is prosperity! How comet-like, it threatens while it shines.
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Accept a miracle, instead of wit See two dull lines, with Stanhope's pencil writ.
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Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Edward Young
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Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
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Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
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Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
Edward Young
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Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
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Men before you have quit smoking - you can too!
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I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.
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