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.
EDMUND SPENSERNo 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.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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And he that strives to touch the stars Oft stumbles at a straw.
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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How many perils doe enfold The righteous man to make him daily fall.
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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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My Love is like to ice, and I to fire: How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat?
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The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.
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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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But O the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels, he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.
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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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Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
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All for love, and nothing for reward.
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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,And by eternall doome of Fate’s decree,Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
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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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The man whom nature’s self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
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In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
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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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Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowers That in the forest grew.
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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
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The Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.
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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
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The noblest mind the best contentment has.
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