With curious art the brain, too finely wrought,
Preys on herself, and is destroyed by thought.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, Epistle to William Hogarth
Why should we fear; and what? The laws?
They all are armed in virtue's cause;
And aiming at the self-same end,
Satire is always virtue's friend.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, The Ghost
Within the brain's most secret cells
A certain Lord Chief Justice dwells
Of sovereign power, whom one and all
With common voice, we Reason call.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, The Ghost
View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan,
And then deny him merit if you can.
Where he falls short, 'tis Nature's fault alone
Where he succeeds, the merit's all his own.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, The Rosciad
The more haste, ever the worst speed.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, The Ghost
A joke's a very serious thing.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, The Ghost
Genius is of no country.
