Charles Churchill Poems

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Charles Churchill
Charles ChurchillCharles Churchill (February, 1731 - November 4, 1764), was an English poet and satirist. Churchill was born in Vine Street, Westminster. His father, rector of Rainham, Essex, held the curacy and lectureship of St Johns, Westminster, from 1733, and Charles was educated at Westminster School, where he became a good classical scholar, and formed a close and lasting friendship with Robert Lloyd. He entered Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1749, having been refused at Oxford, possibly because of a hasty marriage which he had contracted within the rules of the Fleet in his eighteenth year. He never lived at Cambridge; the young couple lived in his father's house, and Churchill was afterwards sent to the north of England to prepare for holy orders. He became curate of South Cadbury, Somerset, and, on receiving priest's orders (1756), began to act as his fathers curate at Rainham. Two years later the elder Churchill died, and the son was elected to succeed him in his curacy and lectureship. His emoluments amounted to less than 100 a year, and he increased his income by teaching in a girls' school. His marriage proved unhappy, and he began to spend much of his time in dissipation in the society of Robert Lloyd. He was separated from his wife in 1761, and would have been imprisoned for debt but for the timely help of Lloyd's father, who had been an usher and was now a master at Westminster.

the dying child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little h... [read poem]
i am!
I am! yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am th... [read poem]
the skylark
The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road; and spreading far and wide
Abo... [read poem]
i hid my love
I hid my love when young till I
Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;
I hid my love to my de... [read poem]
the ghost: book ii
Pomposo (insolent and loud),
Vain idol of a scribbling crowd,
Whose very name inspires an ... [read poem]
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the ... [read poem]
summer images
Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;... [read poem]
to john clare
Well, honest John, how fare you now at home?
The spring is come, and birds are building nests;... [read poem]
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