No dainty flower or herbs that grows on ground, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweet, but there it might be found To bud out fair, and throw her sweet smells all around.
EDMUND SPENSERFor easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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But 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.
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Through 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.
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
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Together linkt with adamantine chains.
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Yet 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.
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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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Who would ever care to do brave deed, Or strive in virtue others to excel, If none should yield him his deserved meed Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
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Her angel’s face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
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For deeds to die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men to as themselves decay, But wise words taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for ay.
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A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man; a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.
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In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn’d himself first to subdue.
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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
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Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
EDMUND SPENSER