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The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound, Shall thro' the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground.

Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon

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Wentworth Dillon, 4th Earl of Roscommon
Age: 48 †
Born: 1637
Born: January 1
Died: 1685
Died: January 18
Author
Poet
Sound
Resurrection
Loud
Rending
Wake
Thro
Ground
Rebound
Shall
Trumpet
Nations
Trumpets
Lasts
Tombs
Last
Wondrous

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Abstruse and mystic thoughts you must express With painful care, but seeming easiness For truth shines brightest thro' the plainest dress.
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Those things which now seem frivolous and slight, Will be of serious consequence to you, When they have made you once ridiculous.
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The press, the pulpit, and the stage, Conspire to censure and expose our age.
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Tis I that call, remember Milo's end, Wedged in that timber which he strove to rend.
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I will not quarrel with a slight mistake, Such as our nature's frailty may excuse.
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Pride (of all others the most dang'rous fault) Proceeds from want of sense, or want of thought.
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You must not think that a satiric style allows of scandalous and brutish words the better sort abhor scurrility.
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What you keep by you, you may change and mend but words, once spoken, can never be recalled.
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Truth shines brightest thro' the plainest dress.
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Beware what spirit rages in your breast for one inspired, ten thousand are possessed.
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Our heroes of the former days deserved and gained their never-fading bays.
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Often try what weight you can support, And what your shoulders are too weak to bear.
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Invention is not so much the result of labor as of judgment.
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Grief dejects and wrings the tortured soul.
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Words are like leaves some wither every year, and every year a younger race succeed.
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Sound judgment is the ground of writing well.
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Choose an author as you would a friend.
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Truth and fiction are so aptly mixed that all seems uniform and of a piece.
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The multitude is always wrong.
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Immodest words admit of no defence, For want of decency is want of sense.
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