English poet (1683-1765)
How blessings brighten as they take their flight!
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!...
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
At thirty a man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;
At fifty chides his infamous delay,
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve;
In all the magnanimity of thought
Resolves; and re-resolves; then dies the same.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
Death joins us to the great majority.
EDWARD YOUNG
The Revenge
The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art,
Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart:
The proud to gain it toils on toils endure,
The modest shun it, but to make it sure.
EDWARD YOUNG
Love of Fame: The Universal Passion in Seven Characteristical Satires
Who combats with a brother, wounds himself.
EDWARD YOUNG
The Brothers
A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.
EDWARD YOUNG
Busiris, King of Egypt: A Tragedy
The man of wisdom is the man of years.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
The course of Nature is the art of God.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
Has the dark adder venom? So have I,
When trod upon.
EDWARD YOUNG
The Revenge
In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.
EDWARD YOUNG
A Vindication of Providence
Old men love novelties; the last arriv'd
Still pleases best; the youngest steals their smiles.
EDWARD YOUNG
The Brothers
He rams his quill with scandal and with scoff,
But 'tis so very foul, it won't go off.
EDWARD YOUNG
Epistles to Pope
He that lives in perpetual suspicion lives the life of a sentinel--of a sentinel never relieved, whose business it is to look out for and expect an enemy, which is an evil not very far short of perishing by him.
EDWARD YOUNG
A Vindication of Providence; Or, A True Estimate of Human Life
Day buries day; month, month; and year the year:
Our life is but a chain of many deaths.
EDWARD YOUNG
The Revenge
The blood will follow where the knife is driven,
The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.
EDWARD YOUNG
The Revenge
What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach,
'Tis an implicit satire on mankind;
And while it satisfies, it censures too.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
'Tis immortality, 'tis that alone,
Amid life's pains, abasements, emptiness,
The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill.
That only, and that amply this performs.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts
Yet man, fool man! here buries all his thoughts;
Inters celestial hopes without one sigh.
Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon,
Here pinions all his wishes.
EDWARD YOUNG
Night Thoughts