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War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.
William Cowper
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William Cowper
Age: 68 †
Born: 1731
Born: November 26
Died: 1800
Died: April 25
Hymnwriter
Poet
Poet Lawyer
Translator
Writer
Berkhamsted
Hertfordshire
Wise
Games
War
Play
Antiwar
Would
Kings
Subjects
Game
More quotes by William Cowper
No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.
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This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.
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There is mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought gives even affliction a grace and reconciles man to his lot.
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All constraint, / Except what wisdom lays on evil men, / Is evil.
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They best can judge a poet's worth, Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetic birth By labours of their own.
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As if the world and they were hand and glove.
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All flesh is grass. and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
William Cowper
Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart To modest cheeks, and borrowed one from art.
William Cowper
Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
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The path of sorrow, and that path alone, leads to the land where sorrow is unknown.
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
William Cowper
We bear our shades about us self-deprived Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, And range an Indian waste without a tree.
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Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies... To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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Man in society is like a flow'r, Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone His faculties expanded in full bloom Shine out, there only reach their proper use.
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Sacred interpreter of human thought, How few respect or use thee as they ought! But all shall give account of every wrong, Who dare dishonor or defile the tongue Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, Or sell their glory at a market-price!
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Pity! Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground! The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to stray And every muse attend her in her way.
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Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.
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But many a crime deemed innocent on earth Is registered in Heaven and these no doubt Have each their record, with a curse annex'd.
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How! leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave.
William Cowper