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Rising glory occasions the greatest envy, as kindling fire the greatest smoke.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Kindling
Occasions
Rising
Envy
Smoke
Glory
Greatest
Fire

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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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For of the soule the bodie forme doth take For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
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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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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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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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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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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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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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Those that were up themselves, kept others low Those that were low themselves, held others hard He suffered them to ryse or greater grow But every one did strive his fellow down to throw.
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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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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought
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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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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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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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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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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.
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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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