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All affectation 'tis my perfect scorn Object of my implacable disgust.

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
Affectation
Disgust
Scorn
Disgusting
Object
Objects
Perfect
Implacable

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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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The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk, Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk, Is always happy, reign whoever may, And laughs the sense of mis'ry far away.
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Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.
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The slaves of custom and established mode, With pack-horse constancy we keep the road Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
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Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours.
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Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,- A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
William Cowper
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Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
William Cowper
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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
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If a great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little man that despises them is no contemptible one.
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A Christian's wit is offensive light, A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight Vig'rous in age as in the flush of youth, 'Tis always active on the side of truth.
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Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurl'd, To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the Pole the produce of the sun, And knit the unsocial climates into one.
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Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die
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Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away.
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Lights of the world, and stars of human race.
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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.
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I will venture to assert, that a just translation of any ancient poet in rhyme is impossible. No human ingenuity can be equal to the task of closing every couplet with sounds homotonous, expressing at the same time the full sense, and only the full sense of his original.
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A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.
William Cowper
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The rich are too indolent, the poor too weak, to bear the insupportable fatigue of thinking.
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A fool must now and then be right, by chance
William Cowper