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Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Nothing
Attractiveness
Mind
Allure
Men
Doth
Love
Strongly
Possess
Beauty
Heaven
Sense

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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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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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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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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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Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.
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At last, the golden orientall gate Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre, And Phoebus, fresh as brydegrome to his mate, Came dauncing forth, shaking his dewie hayre And hurls his glistring beams through gloomy ayre.
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In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.
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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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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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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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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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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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For of the soule the bodie forme doth take For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
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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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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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