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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.
Edmund Spenser
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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Grow
Fellow
Grows
Fellows
Greater
Held
Others
Throw
Hard
Lows
Every
Kept
Strive
Ambition
Suffered
More quotes by Edmund Spenser
Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
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Then came October, full of merry glee.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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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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All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.
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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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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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But angels come to lead frail minds to rest in chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within you stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak.
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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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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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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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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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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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Greatest god below the sky.
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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
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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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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.
Edmund Spenser