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Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.

Edmund Spenser

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Edmund Spenser
Died: 1599
Died: January 13
Poet
Translator
London
England
Edmund Spencer
Love
Prime
Passed
None
Therefore
Sweet
Call
Make
Whilst
Time
Haste

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Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.
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Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.
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A circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world, if it were to be compassed, the heart of man a man may as easily fill a chest with grace as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man.
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Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.
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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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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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Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.
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Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave?Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.
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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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For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.
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I learned have, not to despise,What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.
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The nightingale is sovereign of song.
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Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?
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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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Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.
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This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state for misery doth bravest minds abate.
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The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
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Be bold, and everywhere be bold.
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Thankfulness is the tune of angels.
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There learned arts do flourish in great honour And poets's wits are had in peerless price Religion hath lay power, to rest upon her, Advancing virtue, and suppressing vice. For end all good, all grace there freely grows, Had people grace it gratefully to use: For God His gifts there plenteously bestows, But graceless men them greatly do abuse.
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