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A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook.

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
Boat
Rivers
Sly
Sea
Cunning
Hook
Lakes
Fishing
Fish
Fishes

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Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ His wife he cabined with him and his boy, And seemed that life laborious to enjoy.
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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.
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Deceivers are the most dangerous members of society. They trifle with the best affections of our nature, and violate the most sacred obligations.
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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.
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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.
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An infatuated man is not only foolish, but wild.
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What is a church? Let Truth and reason speak, They would reply, The faithful, pure and meek, From Christian folds, the one selected race, Of all professions, and in every place.
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In this wild world the fondest and the best Are the most tried, most troubled and distress'd.
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Against her foes Religion well defends Her sacred truths, but often fears her friends.
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In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves.
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Learning is better worth than houses or land.
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But jest apart--what virtue canst thou trace In that broad trim that hides thy sober face? Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice? Then for thine accent--what in sound can be So void of grace as dull monotony?
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Life's bloomy flush was lost.
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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.
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We cannot heal the throbbing heart till we discern the wounds within.
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I grant indeed that fields and flocks have charms, For him that gazes or for him that farms.
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Arrogance is the act of the great presumption that of the little.
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There is no mind so weak and powerless as not to have its inclinations, and none so guarded as to be without its prepossessions.
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Dreams are like portraits and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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