Poems by Charles Churchill

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Amongst the sons of men how few are known
Health to great Glo'ster!--from a man unknown,
(In Three Books.)
How much mistaken are the men who think
Can the fond mother from herself depart?[22]
Happy the bard (though few such bards we find)
When Pope to Satire gave its lawful way,
Contrarius evehor orbi.--OVID, Met. lib. ii.
Tristitiam et Metus.
Accursed the man, whom Fate ordains, in spite,
Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,
(In Three Books.)
Deep in the bosom of a wood,
Ah me! what mighty perils wait
P. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
(In Four Books.)
A sacred standard rule we find,
It was the hour, when housewife Morn
Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
Some of my friends (for friends I must suppose
Nos patriam fugimus.
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
The time hath been, a boyish, blushing time,