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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.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Appall
Lamenting
Raging
Waking
Rage
Passion
Love

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Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
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The noblest mind the best contentment has
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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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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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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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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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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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Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.
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Oft stumbles at a straw.
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Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion
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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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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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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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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
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For of the soule the bodie forme doth take For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
Edmund Spenser
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All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.
Edmund Spenser
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For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.
Edmund Spenser
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In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.
Edmund Spenser
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Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
Edmund Spenser
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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.
Edmund Spenser