For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,And by eternall doome of Fate’s decree,Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
EDMUND SPENSERFor we by conquest, of our soveraine might,And by eternall doome of Fate’s decree,Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.
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.
EDMUND SPENSERFull little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.
EDMUND SPENSERAll that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
EDMUND SPENSERFor there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
EDMUND SPENSERHard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
EDMUND SPENSERHer angel’s face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.
EDMUND SPENSERMake haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
EDMUND SPENSERWho will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
EDMUND SPENSERBeauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.
EDMUND SPENSERFor 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.
EDMUND SPENSERFondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
EDMUND SPENSERIn one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.
EDMUND SPENSERThe man whom nature’s self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
EDMUND SPENSERGreatest god below the sky.
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 SPENSER