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Lo! The Poor Toper Whose Untutored Sense, Sees Bliss In Ale, And Can With Wine Dispense; Whose Head Proud Fancy Never Taught To Steer, Beyond The Muddy Ecstasies Of Beer.

-George Crabbe

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Lo! The Poor Toper

George Crabbe

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Lo! The Poor Toper Whose Untutored Sense, Sees Bliss In Ale, And Can With Wine Dispense; Whose Head Proud Fancy Never Taught To Steer, Beyond The Muddy Ecstasies Of Beer.

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Hence, In These Times, Untouch'd The Pages Lie, And Slumber Out Their Immortality.

Men Of Many Words Sometimes Argue For The Sake Of Talking; Men Of Ready Tongues Frequently Dispute For The Sake Of Victory; Men In Public Life Often Debate For The Sake Of Opposing The Ruling Party, Or From Any Other Motive Than The Love Of Truth.

Let's Learn To Live, For We Must Die Alone.

Ability Comprehends The Power Of Doing In General, Without Specifying The Quality Or Degree.

Learning Is Better Worth Than Houses Or Land.

In General Satire, Every Man Perceives A Slight Attack, Yet Neither Fears Nor Grieves.

A Sly Old Fish, Too Cunning For The Hook.

"lawyers Are": By Law's Dark By-ways He Has Stored His Mind With Wicked Knowledge On How To Cheat Mankind.

Feel You The Barren Flattery Of A Rhyme? Can Poets Soothe You, When You Pine For Bread, By Winding Myrtle Round Your Ruin'd Shed?

Fashion, Though Folly's Child, And Guide Of Fools, Rules E'en The Wisest, And In Learning Rules.

Her Air, Her Manners, All Who Saw Admir'd; Courteous Though Coy, And Gentle Though Retir'd; The Joy Of Youth And Health Her Eyes Display'd, And Ease Of Heart Her Every Look Convey'd.

Genius! Thou Gift Of Heav'n! Thou Light Divine! Amid What Dangers Art Thou Doom'd To Shine! Oft Will The Body's Weakness Check Thy Force, Oft Damp Thy Vigour, And Impede Thy Course; And Trembling Nerves Compel Thee To Restrain Thy Noble Efforts, To Contend With Pain; Or Want (sad Guest!) Will In Thy Presence Come, And Breathe Around Her Melancholy Gloom: To Life's Low Cares Will Thy Proud Thought Confine, And Make Her Sufferings, Her Impatience, Thine.

Who Often Reads, Will Sometimes Wish To Write.

We Cannot Heal The Throbbing Heart Till We Discern The Wounds Within.

Oh! 'tis A Precious Thing, When Wives Are Dead, To Find Such Numbers Who Will Serve Instead: And In Whatever State A Man Be Thrown, 'tis That Precisely They Would Wish Their Own.

With Eye Upraised His Master's Look To Scan, The Joy, The Solace, And The Aid Of Man: The Rich Man's Guardian And The Poor Man's Friend, The Only Creature Faithful To The End.

Experience Finds Few Of The Scenes That Lively Hope Designs.

Beauties, When Disposed To Sleep, Should From The Eye Of Keen Inspector Keep: The Lovely Nymph Who Would Her Swain Surprise, May Close Her Mouth, But Not Conceal Her Eyes; Sleep From The Fairest Face Some Beauty Takes, And All The Homely Features Homelier Makes.

Impertinence Will Intermeddle In Things In Which It Has No Concern, Showing A Want Of Breeding, Or, More Commonly, A Spirit Of Sheer Impudence.

Feed The Musician, And He's Out Of Tune.

How Often Do We Sigh For Opportunities For Doing Good, Whilst We Neglect The Openings Of Providence In Little Things, Which Would Frequently Lead To The Accomplishment Of Most Important Usefulness. Good Is Done By Degrees. However Small In Proportion The Benefit Which Follows Individual Attempts To Do Good, A Great Deal May Thus Be Accomplished By Perseverance, Even In The Midst Of Discouragements And Disappointments.

To Every Class We Have A School Assign'd, Rules For All Ranks, And Food For Every Mind: Yet One There Is, That Small Regard To Rule Or Study Pays, And Still Is Deem'd A School; That, Where A Deaf, Poor, Patient Widow Sits, And Awes Some Thirty Infants As She Knits; Infants Of Humble, Busy Wives, Who Pay Some Trifling Price For Freedom Through The Day. At This Good Matron's Hut The Children Meet, Who Thus Becomes The Mother Of The Street.

Books Cannot Always Please, However Good; Minds Are Not Ever Craving For Their Food.

The Game Is Never Lost Till Won.

Life Is Not Measured By The Time We Live.

Fears Of Sinning Let In Thoughts Of Sin.

In This Wild World The Fondest And The Best Are The Most Tried, Most Troubled And Distress'd.

The Wife Was Pretty, Trifling, Childish, Weak; She Could Not Think, But Would Not Cease To Speak.

A Master Passion Is The Love Of News.

The Gentle Fair On Nervous Tea Relies, Whilst Gay Good-nature Sparkles In Her Eyes; An Inoffensive Scandal Fluttering Round, Too Rough To Tickle, And Too Light To Wound.

Ease Leads To Habit, As Success To Ease. He Lives By Rule Who Lives Himself To Please.

To The House Of A Friend If You're Pleased To Retire, You Must All Things Admit, You Must All Things Admire; You Must Pay With Observance The Price Of Your Treat, You Must Eat What Is Praised, And Must Praise What You Eat.

Void Of All Honor, Avaricious, Rash, The Daring Tribe Compound Their Boasted Trash Tincture Of Syrup, Lotion, Drop, Or Pill; All Tempt The Sick To Trust The Lying Bill.

What Is A Church?our Honest Sexton Tells, 'tis A Tall Building, With A Tower And Bells.

From Powerful Causes Spring The Empiric's Gains, Man's Love Of Life, His Weakness, And His Pains; These First Induce Him The Vile Trash To Try, Then Lend His Name, That Other Men May Buy.

But Monument Themselves Memorials Need.

Circles In Water As They Wider Flow The Less Conspicuous In Their Progress Grow, And When At Last They Trench Upon The Shore, Distinction Ceases And They're View'd No More.

Habit With Him Was All The Test Of Truth; It Must Be Right: I've Done It From My Youth.

All Green Was Anished Sae Of Pine And Yew, That Still Displayed Their Melancholy Hue; Sae The Green Holly With Its Berries Red, And The Green Moss That O'er The Grael Spread.

O Days Remember'd Well! Remember'd All! The Bitter Sweet, The Honey And The Gall; Those Garden Rambles In The Silent Night, Those Trees So Shady, And That Moon Se Bright, That Thickset Alley By The Arbor Clos'd, That Woodbine Seat Where We At Last Repos'd; And Then The Hopes That Came And Then Were Gone, Quick As The Clouds Beneath The Moon Past On.

Temp'rate In Every Place--abroad, At Home, Thence Will Applause, And Hence Will Profit Come; And Health From Either--he In Time Prepares For Sickness, Age, And Their Attendant Cares.

Oh, Rather Give Me Commentators Plain, Who With No Deep Researches Vex The Brain; Who From The Dark And Doubtful Love To Run, And Hold Their Glimmering Tapers To The Sun.

Deceivers Are The Most Dangerous Members Of Society. They Trifle With The Best Affections Of Our Nature, And Violate The Most Sacred Obligations.

A Great Lie Is Like A Great Fish On Dry Land; It May Fret And Fling And Make A Frightful Bother, But It Cannot Hurt You. You Have Only To Keep Still, And It Will Die Of Itself.

Say, Ye Oppress'd By Some Fantastic Woes, Some Jarring Nerve That Baffles Your Repose; Who Press The Downy Couch, While Slaves Advance With Timid Eye, To Read The Distant Glance; Who With Sad Prayers The Weary Doctor Tease, To Name The Nameless Ever-new Disease; Who With Mock Patience Dire Complaints Endure, Which Real Pain And That Alone Can Cure; How Would Ye Bear In Real Pain To Lie, Despised, Neglected, Left Alone To Die? How Would Ye Bear To Draw Your Latest Breath, Where All That's Wretched Paves The Way For Death?

Who Calls A Lawyer Rogue, May Find, Too Lateupon One Of These Depends His Whole Estate.

He Tried The Luxury Of Doing Good.

Our Farmers Round, Well Pleased With Constant Gain, Like Other Farmers, Flourish And Complain.

With Awe, Around These Silent Walks I Tread; These Are The Lasting Mansions Of The Dead.

That All Men Would Be Cowards If They Dare, Some Men We Know Have Courage To Declare.

What Is A Church? Let Truth And Reason Speak, They Would Reply, "the Faithful, Pure And Meek, From Christian Folds, The One Selected Race, Of All Professions, And In Every Place.

But Jest Apart--what Virtue Canst Thou Trace In That Broad Trim That Hides Thy Sober Face? Does That Long-skirted Drab, That Over-nice And Formal Clothing, Prove A Scorn Of Vice? Then For Thine Accent--what In Sound Can Be So Void Of Grace As Dull Monotony?

I Paint The Cot, As Truth Will Paint It, And As Bards Will Not.

Soldiers In Arms! Defenders Of Our Soil! Who From Destruction Save Us; Who From Spoil Protect The Sons Of Peace, Who Traffic Or Who Toil; Would I Could Duly Praise You, That Each Deed Your Foe's Might Honor, And Your Friends Might Read.

Secrets With Girls, Like Guns With Boys, Are Never Valued Till They Make A Noise.

Fortunes Are Made, If I The Facts May State-- Though Poor Myself, I Know The Fortunate: First, There's A Knowledge Of The Way From Whence Good Fortune Comes--and This Is Sterling Sense: Then Perseverance, Never To Decline The Chase Of Riches Till The Prey Is Thine; And Firmness Never To Be Drawn Away By Any Passion From That Noble Prey-- By Love, Ambition, Study, Travel, Fame, Or The Vain Hope That Lives Upon A Name.

This, Books Can Do-nor This Alone; They Give New Views To Life, And Teach Us How To Live; They Soothe The Grieved, The Stubborn They Chastise; Fools They Admonish, And Confirm The Wise. Their Aid They Yield To All: They Never Shun The Man Of Sorrow, Nor The Wretch Undone; Unlike The Hard, The Selfish, And The Proud, They Fly Not Sullen From The Suppliant Crowd; Nor Tell To Various People Various Things, But Show To Subjects, What They Show To Kings.

And Took For Truth The Test Of Ridicule.

Whatever Amuses, Serves To Kill Time, To Lull The Faculties, And To Banish Reflection. Whatever Entertains, Usually Awakens The Understanding Or Gratifies The Fancy. Whatever Diverts, Is Lively In Its Nature, And Sometimes Tumultuous In Its Effects.

Some Hearts Are Hidden, Some Have Not A Heart.

The Coward Never On Himself Relies, But To An Equal For Assistance Flies.

See Time Has Touched Me Gently In His Race, And Left No Odious Furrows In My Face.

Virtues Neglected Then, Adored Become, And Graces Slighted, Blossom On The Tomb.

Lo! The Poor Toper Whose Untutored Sense, Sees Bliss In Ale, And Can With Wine Dispense; Whose Head Proud Fancy Never Taught To Steer, Beyond The Muddy Ecstasies Of Beer.

To Show The World What Long Experience Gains, Requires Not Courage, Though It Calls For Pains; But At Life's Outset To Inform Mankind Is A Bold Effort Of A Valiant Mind.

Tis Easiest Dealing With The Firmest Mind-- More Just When It Resists, And, When It Yields, More Kind.

Oh How The Passions, Insolent And Strong, Bear Our Weak Minds Their Rapid Course Along; Make Us The Madness Of Their Will Obey; Then Die And Leave Us To Our Griefs As Prey!

I Grant Indeed That Fields And Flocks Have Charms, For Him That Gazes Or For Him That Farms.

Life's Bloomy Flush Was Lost.

Men Famed For Wit, Of Dangerous Talents Vain, Treat Those Of Common Parts With Proud Disdain; The Powers That Wisdom Would, Improving, Hide, They Blaze Abroad, With Inconsid'rate Pride; While Yet But Mere Probationers For Fame, They Seize The Honor They Should Then Disclaim: Honor So Hurried To The Light Must Fade, The Lasting Laurels Nourish In The Shade.

Shall He Who Soars, Inspired By Loftier Views, Life's Little Cares And Little Pains Refuse? Shall He Not Rather Feel A Double Share Of Mortal Woe, When Doubly Arm'd To Bear?

An Infatuated Man Is Not Only Foolish, But Wild.

Better To Love Amiss Than Nothing To Have Loved.

A Club There Is Of Smokers--dare You Come To That Close, Clouded, Hot, Narcotic Room? When, Midnight Past, The Very Candles Seem Dying For Air, And Give A Ghastly Gleam; When Curling Fumes In Lazy Wreaths Arise, And Prosing Topers Rub Their Winking Eyes.

There Is No Mind So Weak And Powerless As Not To Have Its Inclinations, And None So Guarded As To Be Without Its Prepossessions.

Oh, Conscience! Conscience! Man's Most Faithful Friend, Him Canst Thou Comfort, Ease, Relieve, Defend; But If He Will Thy Friendly Checks Forego, Thou Art, Oh! Woe For Me, His Deadliest Foe!

Good Is Done By Degrees.

't Was Good Advice, And Meant, My Son, Be Good.

Blest Be The Gracious Power, Who Taught Mankind To Stamp A Lasting Image Of The Mind! Beasts May Convey, And Tuneful Birds May Sing, Their Mutual Feelings, In The Opening Spring; But Man Alone Has Skill And Power To Send The Heart's Warm Dictates To The Distant Friend; 'tis His Alone To Please, Instruct, Advise Ages Remote, And Nations Yet To Rise.

When Winter Stern, His Gloomy Front Uprears, A Sable Void The Barren Earth Appears; The Meads No More Their Former Verdure Boast, Fast-bound Their Streams, And All Their Beauty Lost; The Herds, The Flocks, In Icy Garments Mourn, And Wildly Murmur For The Spring's Return; From Snow-topp'd Hills The Whirlwinds Keenly Blow, Howl Through The Woods, And Pierce The Vales Below, Through The Sharp Air A Flaky Torrent Flies, Mocks The Slow Sight, And Hides The Gloomy Skies.

Against Her Foes Religion Well Defends Her Sacred Truths, But Often Fears Her Friends.

Dreams Are Like Portraits; And We Find They Please Because They Are Confessed Resemblances.

In Idle Wishes, Fools Supinely Stay. Be There A Will And Wisdom Finds A Way.

Wine, Like The Rising Sun, Possession Gains, And Drives The Mist Of Dullness From The Brains, The Gloomy Vapor From The Spirit Flies, And Views Of Gaiety And Gladness Rise.

Arrogance Is The Act Of The Great; Presumption That Of The Little.

Old Peter Grimes Made Fishing His Employ; His Wife He Cabined With Him And His Boy, And Seemed That Life Laborious To Enjoy.

Anger Makes Us Strong, Blind And Impatient, And It Leads Us Wrong; The Strength Is Quickly Lost; We Feel The Error Long.

Through The Sharp Air A Flaky Torrent Flies, Mocks The Slow Sight, And Hides The Gloomy Skies; The Fleecy Clouds Their Chilly Bosoms Bare, And Shed Their Substance On The Floating Air.

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