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For of the soule the bodie forme doth take For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Take
Make
Doth

More quotes by Edmund Spenser

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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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For take thy ballaunce if thou be so wise, And weigh the winds that under heaven doth blow Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow.
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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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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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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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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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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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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.
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Fly from wrath sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
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For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.
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There learned arts do flourish in great honour And poets's wits are had in peerless price Religion hath lay power, to rest upon her, Advancing virtue, and suppressing vice. For end all good, all grace there freely grows, Had people grace it gratefully to use: For God His gifts there plenteously bestows, But graceless men them greatly do abuse.
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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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For all that faire is, is by nature goodThat is a signe to know the gentle blood.
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For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.
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She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.
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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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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
Edmund Spenser