All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid.
EDMUND SPENSERThe Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
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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.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Those that were up themselves, kept others low; Those that were low themselves, held others hard; He suffered them to ryse or greater grow; But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
EDMUND SPENSER -
All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
EDMUND SPENSER -
The Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.
EDMUND SPENSER -
The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.
EDMUND SPENSER -
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.
EDMUND SPENSER -
From good to bad, and from bad to worse, From worse unto that is worst of all, And then return to his former fall.
EDMUND SPENSER -
All flesh doth frailty breed!
EDMUND SPENSER -
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.
EDMUND SPENSER -
To be wise and eke to love, Is granted scarce to gods above.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.
EDMUND SPENSER -
For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
EDMUND SPENSER -
Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
EDMUND SPENSER