Greatest god below the sky.
EDMUND SPENSERWho 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.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
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A 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.
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And he that strives to touch the stars Oft stumbles at a straw.
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Joy 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
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Beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.
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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!
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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought.
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Bright as does the morning star appear, Out of the east with flaming locks bedight, To tell the dawning day is drawing near.
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For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto an other brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
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But times do change and move continually.
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Fretting grief the enemy of life.
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All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
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For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
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Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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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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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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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.
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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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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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
EDMUND SPENSER