Virtue may wither on the bed she was born until Philosophy steps in and "clears the encumbered land" and "roots up every weed"
— Churchill, Charles (1731-1764)
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for Author; Sold by W. Flexney, G. Kearsly
Date
1764
Metaphor
Virtue may wither on the bed she was born until Philosophy steps in and "clears the encumbered land" and "roots up every weed"
Metaphor in Context
FRIEND
Weak and unjust distinction, strange design,
Most peevish, most perverse, to undermine
Philosophy, and throw her empire down
By means of sense, from whom she holds her crown!
Divine Philosophy, to thee we owe
All that is worth possessing here below;
Virtue and wisdom consecrate thy reign,
Doubled each joy, and pain no longer pain.
When, like a garden, where, for want of toil
And wholesome discipline, the rich, rank soil
Teems with incumbrances; where all around,
Herbs noxious in their nature make the ground,
Like the good mother of a thankless son,
Curse her own womb, by fruitfulness undone;
Like such a garden, when the human soul,
Uncultured, wild, impatient of control,
Brings forth those passions of luxuriant race,
Which spread, and stifle every herb of grace;
Whilst Virtue, check'd by the cold hand of scorn,
Seems withering on the bed where she was born,
Philosophy steps in, with steady hand
She brings her aid, she clears the encumber'd land;
Too virtuous to spare Vice one stroke, too wise
One moment to attend to Pity's cries,
See with what godlike, what relentless power
She roots up every weed!
Weak and unjust distinction, strange design,
Most peevish, most perverse, to undermine
Philosophy, and throw her empire down
By means of sense, from whom she holds her crown!
Divine Philosophy, to thee we owe
All that is worth possessing here below;
Virtue and wisdom consecrate thy reign,
Doubled each joy, and pain no longer pain.
When, like a garden, where, for want of toil
And wholesome discipline, the rich, rank soil
Teems with incumbrances; where all around,
Herbs noxious in their nature make the ground,
Like the good mother of a thankless son,
Curse her own womb, by fruitfulness undone;
Like such a garden, when the human soul,
Uncultured, wild, impatient of control,
Brings forth those passions of luxuriant race,
Which spread, and stifle every herb of grace;
Whilst Virtue, check'd by the cold hand of scorn,
Seems withering on the bed where she was born,
Philosophy steps in, with steady hand
She brings her aid, she clears the encumber'd land;
Too virtuous to spare Vice one stroke, too wise
One moment to attend to Pity's cries,
See with what godlike, what relentless power
She roots up every weed!
Categories
Citation
2 entries in the ESTC (1764, 1765).
See The Farewell. A Poem. (Printed for Author; Sold by W. Flexney, G. Kearsly, 1764). <Link to ESTC>
Text from Poems of Charles Churchill, ed. James Laver. 2 vols. (London: The King's Printers, 1933).
See The Farewell. A Poem. (Printed for Author; Sold by W. Flexney, G. Kearsly, 1764). <Link to ESTC>
Text from Poems of Charles Churchill, ed. James Laver. 2 vols. (London: The King's Printers, 1933).
Date of Entry
07/19/2004
