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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
Always
Folly
Would
Excuse
Men
Actions
Blame
Succeed
Ready
Impute
Heaven
Thereof
Action
Follies

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O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.
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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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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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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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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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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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Fly from wrath sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.
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Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.
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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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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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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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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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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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All flesh doth frailty breed!
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Greatest god below the sky.
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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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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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