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Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, like other farmers, flourish and complain.
George Crabbe
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George Crabbe
Age: 79 †
Born: 1754
Born: December 24
Died: 1834
Died: February 3
Entomologist
Medicine
Poet
Surgeon
Writer
Aldeburgh
Suffolk
Farmers
Well
Like
Complaining
Round
Rounds
Flourish
Gain
Farming
Gains
Pleased
Constant
Complain
Wells
More quotes by George Crabbe
Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme? Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread, By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?
George Crabbe
Circles in water as they wider flow The less conspicuous in their progress grow, And when at last they trench upon the shore, Distinction ceases and they're view'd no more.
George Crabbe
In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves.
George Crabbe
A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook.
George Crabbe
The gentle fair on nervous tea relies, Whilst gay good-nature sparkles in her eyes An inoffensive scandal fluttering round, Too rough to tickle, and too light to wound.
George Crabbe
Dreams are like portraits and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
George Crabbe
And took for truth the test of ridicule.
George Crabbe
Anger makes us strong, Blind and impatient, And it leads us wrong The strength is quickly lost We feel the error long.
George Crabbe
Learning is better worth than houses or land.
George Crabbe
Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.
George Crabbe
Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd.
George Crabbe
Men of many words sometimes argue for the sake of talking men of ready tongues frequently dispute for the sake of victory men in public life often debate for the sake of opposing the ruling party, or from any other motive than the love of truth.
George Crabbe
Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier views, Life's little cares and little pains refuse? Shall he not rather feel a double share Of mortal woe, when doubly arm'd to bear?
George Crabbe
Oh, rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.
George Crabbe
With eye upraised his master's look to scan, The joy, the solace, and the aid of man: The rich man's guardian and the poor man's friend, The only creature faithful to the end.
George Crabbe
To the house of a friend if you're pleased to retire, You must all things admit, you must all things admire You must pay with observance the price of your treat, You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat.
George Crabbe
Virtues neglected then, adored become, And graces slighted, blossom on the tomb.
George Crabbe
Oh how the passions, insolent and strong, Bear our weak minds their rapid course along Make us the madness of their will obey Then die and leave us to our griefs as prey!
George Crabbe
With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
George Crabbe
We cannot heal the throbbing heart till we discern the wounds within.
George Crabbe
