Charles Churchill Poems on Death & Dying (8 Poems)

The Prophecy Of Famine (Charles Churchill Poems)

A SCOTS PASTORAL INSCRIBED TO JOHN WILKES, ESQ. Nos patriam fugimus.–VIRGIL. When Cupid first instructs his darts to flyFrom the sly corner of some cook-maid’s eye,The stripling raw, just enter’d in his teens,Receives the wound, and wonders what it … Continue reading →

The Conference (Charles Churchill Poems)

Grace said in form, which sceptics must agree,When they are told that grace was said by me;The servants gone to break the scurvy jestOn the proud landlord, and his threadbare guest;‘The King’ gone round, my lady too withdrawn;My lord, in … Continue reading →

The Author (Charles Churchill Poems)

Accursed the man, whom Fate ordains, in spite,And cruel parents teach, to read and write!What need of letters? wherefore should we spell?Why write our names? A mark will do as well.Much are the precious hours of youth misspent,In climbing Learning’s … Continue reading →

The Duellist – Book III (Charles Churchill Poems)

Ah me! what mighty perils waitThe man who meddles with a state,Whether to strengthen, or oppose!False are his friends, and firm his foes:How must his soul, once ventured in,Plunge blindly on from sin to sin!What toils he suffers, what disgrace,To … Continue reading →

The Ghost – Book I (Charles Churchill Poems)

With eager search to dart the soul,Curiously vain, from pole to pole,And from the planets’ wandering spheresTo extort the number of our years,And whether all those years shall flowSerenely smooth, and free from woe,Or rude misfortune shall deformOur life with … Continue reading →

Gotham – Book I (Charles Churchill Poems)

Far off (no matter whether east or west,A real country, or one made in jest,Nor yet by modern Mandevilles disgraced,Nor by map-jobbers wretchedly misplaced)There lies an island, neither great nor small,Which, for distinction sake, I Gotham call. The man who … Continue reading →

The Duellist – Book I (Charles Churchill Poems)

The clock struck twelve; o’er half the globeDarkness had spread her pitchy robe:Morpheus, his feet with velvet shod,Treading as if in fear he trod,Gentle as dews at even-tide,Distill’d his poppies far and wide. Ambition, who, when waking, dreamsOf mighty, but … Continue reading →

The Duellist – Book II (Charles Churchill Poems)

Deep in the bosom of a wood,Out of the road, a Temple 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 … Continue reading →