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But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.

Edmund Waller

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Edmund Waller
Age: 81 †
Born: 1606
Born: March 3
Died: 1687
Died: October 21
Poet
Politician
Writer
Coleshill
Buckinghamshire
Gentleman that loves the peace
True son of the Church of England and a lover of his countries liberty
Edmund Waller
Vices
Flesh
Blood
Virtue
Wells
Well
Clad
Vice

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Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.
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Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.
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With wisdom fraught not such as books, but such as practice taught.
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The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.
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Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
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Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
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What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?
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The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.
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Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
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Poets that lasting marble seek, Must come in Latin or in Greek.
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Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
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Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
Edmund Waller
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Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.
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And keeps the palace of the soul.
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Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
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The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
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The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.
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Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
Edmund Waller
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To love is to believe, to hope, to know 'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
Edmund Waller
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Poets may boast (as safely-vain) Their work shall with the world remain: Both bound together, live, or die, The verses and the prophecy. But who can hope his lines shou'd long Last, in a daily changing tongue? While they are new, envy prevails, And as that dies, our language fails.
Edmund Waller