George Crabbe Quotes

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.

Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain,
Like other farmers, flourish and complain.

A master passion is the love of news.

The murmuring poor, who will not fast in peace.

Where Plenty smiles - alas! she smiles for few,
And those who taste not, yet behold her store,
Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore,
The wealth around them makes them doubly poor.