For next to Death is Sleepe to be compared; Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, ther Richesse, and hel-gate them both betwext.
EDMUND SPENSERFor next to Death is Sleepe to be compared; Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, ther Richesse, and hel-gate them both betwext.
EDMUND SPENSERAll love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
EDMUND SPENSERFor evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
EDMUND SPENSERIll can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
EDMUND SPENSERBeauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.
EDMUND SPENSERFresh spring the herald of love’s mighty king.
EDMUND SPENSERThrough knowledge we behold the world’s creation, How in his cradle first he fostered was; And judge of Nature’s cunning operation, How things she formed of a formless mass.
EDMUND SPENSERSweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan’s beams, which then did glister fair.
EDMUND SPENSERBut angels come to lead frail minds to rest in chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within; you stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak.
EDMUND SPENSERA sweet attractive kind of grace, A full assurance given by looks, Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books– I trow that countenance cannot lye Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.
EDMUND SPENSERYet is there one more cursed than they all, That canker-worm, that monster, jealousie, Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, Turning all love’s delight to misery, Through fear of losing his felicity.
EDMUND SPENSERBe bold, and everywhere be bold.
EDMUND SPENSERFoul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.
EDMUND SPENSERGather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
EDMUND SPENSERJoy may you have and gentle hearts content Of your loves couplement: And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile
EDMUND SPENSERAnd painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
EDMUND SPENSER