Quote

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Flower
Violets
Grew
Bathed
Blew
Violet
Roses
Sweetest
Red
Rose
Forrest

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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave?Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.
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Waking love suffereth no sleepe: Say, that raging love dothe appall the weake stomacke: Say, that lamenting love marreth the musicall.
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So Orpheus did for his owne bride, So I unto my selfe alone will sing, The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring.
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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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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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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!
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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
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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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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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What though the sea with waves continuall Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought : For whatsoever from one place doth fall Is with the tyde unto another brought : For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.
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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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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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Ill seemes (sayd he) if he so valiant be, That he should be so sterne to stranger wight For seldom yet did living creature see That courtesie and manhood ever disagree.
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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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The noblest mind the best contentment has
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This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state for misery doth bravest minds abate.
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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