Quote

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.

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
Round
Monarchs
Rounds
Dispute
Sea
Brute
None
Surveys
Lord
Royalty
Right
Brutes
Monarch
Disputes
Fowl
Centre
Survey

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Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, / Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
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In indolent vacuity of thought.
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He that has seen both sides of fifty has lived to little purpose if he has no other views of the world than he had when he was much younger.
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[My kitten's] gambols are not to be described, and would be incredible, if they could.
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This fond attachment to the well-known place Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.
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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.
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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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Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.
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Nature is a good name for an effect whose cause is God.
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No one was ever scolded out of their sins.
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Glory, built on selfish principles, is shame and guilt.
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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
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The darkest day, if you live till tomorrow, will have passed away.
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How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.
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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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Folly ends where genuine hope begins.
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...So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
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'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume And we are weeds without it.
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Habits are soon assumed but when we strive to strip them off, 'tis being flayed alive.
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