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 SPENSERDiscord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
More Edmund Spenser Quotes
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So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowers That in the forest grew.
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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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Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.
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The Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.
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Greatest god below the sky.
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But times do change and move continually.
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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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Yet 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.
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All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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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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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.
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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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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.
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
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Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.
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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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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.
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Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.
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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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Like as the culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate.
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For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.
EDMUND SPENSER