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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.
Edmund Spenser
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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Love
Hateful
Foul
Jealousy
Dread
Loving
Thoughts
Joyless
Divine
Languish
Heart
Pine
More quotes by Edmund Spenser
The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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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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Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.
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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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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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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.
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I learned have, not to despise,What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.
Edmund Spenser
And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
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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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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.
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Greatest god below the sky.
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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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What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enjoy delight with libertie, And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.
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So much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.
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Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.
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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
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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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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?
Edmund Spenser
The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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The noblest mind the best contentment has
Edmund Spenser