Lines Written In Windsor Park.

When Pope to Satire gave its lawful way,
And made the Nimrods of Mankind his prey;
When haughty Windsor heard through every wood
Their shame, who durst be great, yet not be good;
Who, drunk with power, and with ambition blind,
Slaves to themselves, and monsters to mankind,
Sinking the man, to magnify the prince,
Were heretofore, what Stuarts have been since:
Could he have look'd into the womb of Time,
How might his spirit in prophetic rhyme,
Inspired by virtue, and for freedom bold,
Matters of different import have foretold!
How might his Muse, if any Muse's tongue
Could equal such an argument, have sung
One William,^[1] who makes all mankind his care,
And shines the saviour of his country there!
One William, who to every heart gives law;
The son of George, the image of Nassau!

Charles Churchill

Charles Churchill was a significant British poet and satirist of the 18th century. Born on February 2, 1732, he was known for his polemical works that often critiqued the societal and political environment of his time. Churchill's poetry gained him much popularity and controversy due to its outspoken nature. He died on November 4, 1764, but his works continued to influence English satirical poetry. His most famous works include 'The Rosciad' and 'The Apology'.

Charles Churchill

The Journey.[1]

Charles Churchill, Simple Poetry

Dedication To Churchill's Sermons.

Charles Churchill, Simple Poetry

The Duellist.[1] Book I.

Charles Churchill, Simple Poetry

The Duellist. Book II.

Charles Churchill, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Lines Written In Windsor Forest.

All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade,
Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours!
Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said, 'Be ours!--
Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:
At Court thou mayst be liked, but nothing gain;
Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose;
And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.'

Alexander Pope

Lines Written In Windsor Forest

All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade!
Scene of my youthful loves and happier hours!
Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,
And gently press'd my hand, and said "Be ours!
Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:
At Court thou may'st be liked, but nothing gain:
Stock thou may'st buy and sell, but always lose,
And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain."

Alexander Pope

The Journey.[1]

Some of my friends (for friends I must suppose
All, who, not daring to appear my foes,
Feign great good will, and, not more full of spite
Than full of craft, under false colours fight),
Some of my friends (so lavishly I print),
As more in sorrow than in anger, hint
(Though that indeed will scarce admit a doubt)
That I shall run my stock of genius out,
My no great stock, and, publishing so fast,
Must needs become a bankrupt at the last.
'The husbandman, to spare a thankful soil,
Which, rich in disposition, pays his toil
More than a hundredfold, which swells his store
E'en to his wish, and makes his barns run o'er,
By long Experience taught, who teaches best,
Foregoes his hopes a while, and gives it rest:
The land, allow'd its losses to repair,
Refresh'd, a...

Charles Churchill

Dedication To Churchill's Sermons.

Health to great Glo'ster!--from a man unknown,
Who holds thy health as dearly as his own,
Accept this greeting--nor let modest fear
Call up one maiden blush--I mean not here
To wound with flattery; 'tis a villain's art,
And suits not with the frankness of my heart.
Truth best becomes an orthodox divine,
And, spite of Hell, that character is mine:
To speak e'en bitter truths I cannot fear;
But truth, my lord, is panegyric here.
Health to great Glo'ster!--nor, through love of ease,
Which all priests love, let this address displease.
I ask no favour, not one _note_ I crave,
And when this busy brain rests in the grave,
(For till that time it never can have rest)
I will not trouble you with one bequest.
Some humbler friend, my mortal journey done,
More near in...

Charles Churchill

The Duellist. Book II.

Deep in the bosom of a wood,
Out of the road, a Temple^[4] stood:
Ancient, and much the worse for wear,
It call'd aloud for quick repair,
And, tottering from side to side,
Menaced destruction far and wide;
Nor able seem'd, unless made stronger,
To hold out four or five years longer.
Four hundred pillars, from the ground
Rising in order, most unsound,
Some rotten to the heart, aloof
Seem'd to support the tottering roof,
But, to inspection nearer laid,
Instead of giving, wanted aid.
The structure, rare and curious, made
By men most famous in their trade,
A work of years, admired by all,
Was suffer'd into dust to fall;
Or, just to make it hang together,
And keep off the effects of weather,
Was patch'd and patch'd from time to time

Charles Churchill

Cromwell

They took dead Cromwell from his grave,
And stuck his head on high;
The Merry Monarch and his men,
They laughed as they passed by
The common people cheered and jeered,
To Englands deep disgrace,
The crowds whod neer have dared to look
Live Cromwell in the face.

He came in Englands direst need
With law and fire and sword,
He thrashed her enemies at home
And crushed her foes abroad;
He kept his word by sea and land,
His parliament he schooled,
He made the nations understand
A Man in England ruled!

Van Tromp, with twice the English ships,
And flushed by victory,
A great broom to his masthead bound,
Set sail to sweep the sea.
But Englands ruler was a man
Who needed lots of room,
So Blake soon lowered the Dutchmans to...

Henry Lawson