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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.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Creatures
Angels
Highest
Wicked
Works
Mercy
Grace
Serve
Men
Loves
Exceeding
Angel
Foe
Embrace
Sends
Blessed
Doth

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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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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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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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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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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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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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Greatest god below the sky.
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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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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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Full many mischiefs follow cruel wrath Abhorred bloodshed and tumultuous strife Unmanly murder and unthrifty scath, Bitter despite, with rancor's rusty knife And fretting grief the enemy of life All these and many evils more, haunt ire.
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The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives all else is claimed by death.
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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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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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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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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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