Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
EDMUND SPENSERWaking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
EDMUND SPENSERHer angel’s face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
EDMUND SPENSERWho will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
EDMUND SPENSERShe bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowers That in the forest grew.
EDMUND SPENSERFor evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
EDMUND SPENSERThe Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.
EDMUND SPENSERMy 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?
EDMUND SPENSERFly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
EDMUND SPENSERBut times do change and move continually.
EDMUND SPENSERSluggish idleness–the nurse of sin.
EDMUND SPENSERAll that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
EDMUND SPENSERDeath is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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 SPENSERAll that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
EDMUND SPENSER