"Behold your bishop! well he plays his part, Christian in name, and infidel in heart, Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, A slave at court, elsewhere a lady’s man. Dumb as a senator, and as a priest A piece of mere church furniture at best."

"The parson knows enough who knows a duke."

"Public schools 'tis public folly feeds."

"But truths on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and mistery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a luster, he that runs may read."

"An honest man, close-buttoned to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within."

"The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade."

"Mr. Grenville squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kind-hearted gentleman."

"I believe no man was ever scolded out of his sins."

"Our severest winter, commonly called the spring."

"Old Tiney, the surliest of his kind! Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare.Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look; And, when he could, would bite."

"But what is man in his own proud esteem? Hear him, himself the poet and the theme; A monarch clothed with majesty and awe, His mind his kingdom and his will his law."

"The sounding jargon of the schools."

"Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true,— A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew."

"He has no hope that never had a fear."

"There goes the parson, O illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk."

"Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot!"

"A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule, And, when by that of reason, a mere fool."

"And differing judgments serve but to declare, That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where."

"Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?"

"Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away."

"The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves, by thumping on your back, His sense of your great merit, Is such a friend that one had need Be very much his friend indeed To pardon or to bear it."

"Thousands, careless of the damning sin, Kiss the book's outside who ne'er look within."

"Let Charity forgive me a mistake, That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make, And spare the poet for his subject’s sake."

"True Charity, a plant divinely nurs'd."

"When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings."

"Canst thou, and honour’d with a Christian name, Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame? Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead Expedience as a warrant for the deed? So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold To quit the forest and invade the fold: So may the ruffian, who with ghostly glide, Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside; Not he, but his emergence forced the door, He found it inconvenient to be poor."

"Grief is itself a med'cine."

"Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own."

"Candid, and generous, and just, Boys care but little whom they trust, An error soon corrected— For who but learns in riper years That man, when smoothest he appears Is most to be suspected?"

"Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng: With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes; Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, And Heaven reflected in her face."

"Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestowed, Shame and ruin wait for you."

"Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they."

"'Tis Providence alone secures In every change both mine and yours."

"Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread, Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow."

"Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, While meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray."

"Oh! I could thresh his old jacket till I made his pension jingle in his pockets."

"But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost."

"Man disobeys, and deity disowns me."

"Damned below Judas; more abhorred than he was."

"Absence from whom we love is worse than death, And frustrate hope severer than despair."

"No dancing bear was so genteel Or half so dégagé."

"O Innocence, the sacred amulet 'Gainst all the poisons of infirmity; Of all misfortune, injury, and death, That makes a man in tune still in himself; Free from the hell to be his own accuser, Ever in quiet, endless joy enjoying; No strife nor no sedition in his powers; No motion in his will against his reason, No thought 'gainst thought— But (all parts in him, friendly and secure, Fruitful of all best things in all worst seasons) He can with every wish be in their plenty; When the infectious guilt of one foul crime Destroys the free content of all our time."

"Of all the English Play-writers, Chapman perhaps approaches nearest to Shakspeare in the descriptive and didactic, in passages which are less purely dramatic. Dramatic Imitation was not his talent. He could not go out of himself, as Shakspeare could shift at pleasure, to inform and animate other existences, but in himself he had an eye to perceive and a soul to embrace all forms. He would have made a great Epic Poet, if, indeed, he has not abundantly shown himself to be one; for his Homer is not so properly a Translation as the Stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written. The earnestness and passion which he has put into every part of these poems would be incredible to a reader of mere modern translations. His almost Greek zeal for the honour of his heroes is only paralleled by that fierce spirit of Hebrew bigotry, with which Milton, as if personating one of the Zealots of the old law, clothed himself when he sate down to paint the acts of Samson against the Uncircumcised. The great obstacle to Chapman's Translations being read is their unconquerable quaintness. He pours out in the same breath the most just and natural and the most violent and forced expressions. He seems to grasp whatever words come first to hand during the impetus of inspiration, as if all other must be inadequate to the divine meaning. But passion (the all in all in Poetry) is everywhere present, raising the low, dignifying the mean, and putting sense into the absurd. He makes his readers glow, weep, tremble, take any affection which he pleases, be moved by words, or in spite of them, be disgusted and overcome their disgust. I have often thought that the vulgar misconception of Shakspeare, as of a wild irregular genius "in whom great faults are compensated by great beauties," would be really true applied to Chapman."

"Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific—and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien."

"Chapman, ... where he lays aside the gravity of the philosopher and poet, discovers an unexpected comic vein, distinguished by equal truth of nature and lively good humour."

"He has more thinking than many of the old dramatists; and the praise of one of his critics, though strongly worded, is not without some foundation, that we "seldom find richer contemplations on the nature of man and the world.""

"The translation of Homer, published by George Chapman, in the reign of queen Elizabeth and king James, is one of the greatest treasures the English language has to boast."

"If Homer could return from Elysium to read all the English renderings, he would surely find in Chapman his truest son, a man who has fed on lions' marrow."

"I know an Englishman, Being flattered, is a lamb; threatened, a lion."

"They're only truly great who are truly good."