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When nations are to perish in their sins, 'tis in the Church the leprosy begins.

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
Church
Leprosy
Perish
Sins
Begins
Sin
Nations

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Th' embroid'ry of poetic dreams.
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Laugh at all you trembled at before.
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Tea - the cups that cheer but not inebriate.
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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.
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Most satirists are indeed a public scourge Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, By lean despair upon an empty purse.
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O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
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Religion does not censure or exclude Unnumbered pleasures, harmlessly pursued.
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Absence of occupation is not rest.
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Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
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We sacrifice to dress till household joys and comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, and keeps our larder lean.
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Great offices will have great talents.
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Great contest follows, and much learned dust Involves the combatants each claiming truth, And truth disclaiming both.
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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
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Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn, That he who made it, and reveal'd its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
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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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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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Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain.
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Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
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Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
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Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid, In every bosom where her nest is made, Hatched by the beams of truth, denies him rest, And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
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