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.
EDMUND SPENSERUnhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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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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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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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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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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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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From good to bad, and from bad to worse, From worse unto that is worst of all, And then return to his former fall.
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Laws ought to be fashioned unto the manners and conditions of the people whom they are meant to benefit, and not imposed upon them according to the simple rule of right.
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How many perils doe enfold The righteous man to make him daily fall.
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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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Like as the culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate.
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All for love, and nothing for reward.
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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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All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid.
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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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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
EDMUND SPENSER