This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state; for misery doth bravest minds abate.
EDMUND SPENSERGather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
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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 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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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought.
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Fretting grief the enemy of life.
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Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
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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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Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.
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So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life the leaf, the bud, the flower.
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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
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Me seems the world is run quite out of square,From the first point of his appointed source,And being once amiss grows daily worse and worse.
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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 if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.
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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.
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Greatest god below the sky.
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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? – Epithalamion
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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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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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I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.
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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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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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All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
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