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Men, when their actions succeed not as they would, are always ready to impute the blame thereof to heaven, so as to excuse their own follies.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Ready
Impute
Heaven
Thereof
Action
Follies
Always
Folly
Would
Excuse
Men
Actions
Blame
Succeed

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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.
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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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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.
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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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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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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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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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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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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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The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives all else is claimed by death.
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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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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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How many great ones may remember'd be, Which in their days most famously did flourish, Of whom no word we hear, nor sign now see, But as things wip'd out with a sponge do perish, Because the living cared not to cherish No gentle wits, through pride or covetize, Which might their names forever memorize!
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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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