Quote

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.

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
Made
Laid
Bosoms
Scorpion
Every
Eggs
Nests
Hatched
Rage
Beam
Scorpions
Deny
Proves
Beams
Prove
Remorse
Raging
Rest
Fatal
Denies
Pleasure
Breast
Nest
Truth
Breasts
Bosom

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How readily we wish time spent revoked, that we might try the ground again where once--through inexperience, as we now perceive--we missed that happiness we might have found!
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What we admire we praise and when we praise, Advance it into notice, that its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
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A story, in which native humour reigns, Is often useful, always entertains A graver fact, enlisted on your side, May furnish illustration, well applied But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
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No wild enthusiast could rest, till half the world like him was possessed.
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Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, / Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
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With spots quadrangular of diamond form, ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, and spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
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God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs
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Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at the cheaper rate.
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Absence of occupation is not rest A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.
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She that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming.
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And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast) / The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
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God made bees, and bees made honey, God made man, and man made money, Pride made the devil, and the devil made sin So God made a cole-pit to put the devil in.
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Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
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Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations, who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
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I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
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Transforms old print To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
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It chills my blood to hear the blest Supreme Rudely appealed to on each trifling theme.
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No, Freedom has a thousand charms to show That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
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Admirals extolled for standing still, or doing nothing with a deal of skill.
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Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired.
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