Edmund Spenser quotes:

Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, Ease after war, death after life does greatly please.

Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine to joyless dread, and makest the loving heart with hateful thoughts to languish and to pine.

The poets' scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.

And through the hall there walked to and fro A jolly yeoman, marshall of the same, Whose name was Appetite; he did bestow Both guestes and meate, whenever in they came, And knew them how to order without blame.

For we by conquest, of our soveraine might,And by eternall doome of Fate's decree,Have wonne the Empire of the Heavens bright.

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.

Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide: To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To waste long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.

It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor.

For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds,And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds;

Aye me, how many perils do enfoldThe righteous man, to make him daily fall?Were not, that heavenly grace doth him uphold,And steadfast truth acquite him out of all.

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.

He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts; But double griefs afflict concealing harts, As raging flames who striveth to supresse.

Hasty wrath and heedless hazardy do breed repentance late and lasting infamy.

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.

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.

What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty?

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.

So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre

I was promised on a time - to have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Nothing under heaven so strongly doth allure the sense of man, and all his mind possess, as beauty's love.

Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but stiketh nere; Sweet is the firbloome, but its braunches rough; Sweet is the cypress, but its rynd is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.

Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair

Death is an equall doome To good and bad, the common In of rest.

And thus of all my harvest-hope I have Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.

Vain-glorious man, when fluttering wind does blow In his light wing's, is lifted up to sky; The scorn of-knighthood and true chivalry. To think, without desert of gentle deed And noble worth, to be advanced high, Such praise is shame, but honour, virtue's meed, Doth bear the fairest flower in honourable seed.

For take thy ballaunce if thou be so wise, And weigh the winds that under heaven doth blow; Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise; Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Why then should witless man so much misweeneThat nothing is but that which he hath seene?

Hark, how the cheerful birds do chaunt their lays, and carol of love's praise.

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.

Vaine is the vaunt, and victory unjust, that more to mighty hands, then rightfull cause doth trust.

He that strives to touch the starts, oft stumbles at a straw.

And he that strives to touch the stars, Oft stumbles at a straw.

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.

The mind maketh good or ill, wretch or happy, rich or poor.

Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.

She bathed with roses red, And violets blew. And all the sweetest flowres That in the forrest grew.

Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.

For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto an other brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

But times do change and move continually.

For deeds to die, however nobly done, And thoughts of men to as themselves decay, But wise words taught in numbers for to run, Recorded by the Muses, live for ay.

All that in this delightful garden grows should happy be and have immortal bliss.

Thankfulness is the tune of angels.

All for love, and nothing for reward.

For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

And he that strives to touch the stars Oft stumbles at a straw.

All that in this world is great or gay, Doth, as a vapor, vanish and decay.

Be bold, and everywhere be bold.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

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.

Man's wretched state, That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.

Together linkt with adamantine chains.

Much more profitable and gracious is doctrine by example than by rule.

The noblest mind the best contentment has

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.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? - Epithalamion

Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.

Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small.

The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.

This iron world bungs down the stoutest hearts to lowest state; for misery doth bravest minds abate.

Yet is there one more cursed than they all, That canker-worm, that monster, jealousie, Which eats the heart and feeds upon the gall, Turning all love's delight to misery, Through fear of losing his felicity.

Like as the culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate

The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.

So furiously each other did assayle, As if their soules they would attonce haue rent Out of their brests, that streames of bloud did rayle Adowne, as if their springes of life were spent; That all the ground with purple bloud was sprent, And all their armours staynd with bloudie gore, Yet scarcely once to breath would they relent, So mortall was their malice and so sore, Become of fayned friendship which they vow'd afore.

All love is sweet Given or returned And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

Gather therefore the Rose, whilst yet is prime, For soon comes age, that will her pride deflower: Gather the Rose of love, whilst yet is time.

What though the sea with waves continuall Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all ; Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought : For whatsoever from one place doth fall Is with the tyde unto another brought : For there is nothing lost, that may be found if sought.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay A mortal thing so to immortalise; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wipèd out likewise. Not so (quod I); let baser things devise To die in dust, but you shall live by fame; My verse your virtues rare shall eternise, And in the heavens write your glorious name: Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew.

Ah when will this long weary day have end, And lend me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the hours their numbers spend! How slowly does sad Time his feathers move!

There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.

I hate the day, because it lendeth light To see all things, but not my love to see.

To be wise and eke to love, Is granted scarce to gods above.

And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.

After her came jolly June, arrayed All in green leaves, as he a player were; Yet in his time he wrought as well as played, That by his plough-irons mote right well appear. Upon a crab he rode, that did him bear, With crooked crawling steps, an uncouth pace, And backward rode, as bargemen wont to fare, Bending their force contrary to their face; Like that ungracious crew which feigns demurest grace.

The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.

For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; For the soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.

Hard it is to teach the old horse to amble anew.

Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, Pour not by cups, but by the bellyful, Pour out to all that wull.

Then came October, full of merry glee.

A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine.

Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

For all that faire is, is by nature good;That is a signe to know the gentle blood.

In youth, before I waxe' d old, The blind boy,Venus' baby, For want of cunning made me bold, In bitter hive to grope for honey.

But as it falleth, in the gentlest hearts Imperious love hath highest set his throne, And tyrannizeth in the bitter smarts Of them, that to him buxom are and prone.

Fretting grief the enemy of life.

Go little book, thy self present, As child whose parent is unkent: To him that is the president Of noblesse and of chivalry, And if that Envy bark at thee, As sure it will, for succour flee.

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.

Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled,On Fames eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.

The paynefull smith, with force of fervent heat, The hardest yron soone doth mollify, That with his heavy sledge he can it beat, And fashion it to what he it list apply.

It often falls, in course of common life, that right long time is overborne of wrong.

Ah, fool! faint heart fair lady ne'er could win.

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.

A sweet attractive kind of grace, A full assurance given by looks, Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books-- I trow that countenance cannot lye Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.

Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.

How many great ones may remember'd be, Which in their days most famously did flourish, Of whom no word we hear, nor sign now see, But as things wip'd out with a sponge do perish, Because the living cared not to cherish No gentle wits, through pride or covetize, Which might their names forever memorize!

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.

Lastly came Winter cloathed all in frize, Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill; Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freese, And the dull drops, that from his purpled bill As from a limebeck did adown distill: In his right hand a tipped staffe he held, With which his feeble steps he stayed still; For he was faint with cold, and weak with eld; That scarce his loosed limbes he hable was to weld.

The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. Genius survives; all else is claimed by death.

O happy earth, Whereon thy innocent feet doe ever tread!

Beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, an outward show of things that only seem.

But Justice, though her dome doom she doe prolong,Yet at the last she will her owne cause right.

For easy things, that may be got at will, Most sorts of men do set but little store.

Who will not mercy unto others show, How can he mercy ever hope to have?

Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, The builder oak, sole king of forests all, The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral, The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the fir that weepest still, The yew obedient to the bender's will, The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill, The myrrh sweet-bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, The fruitful olive, and the platane round, The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound.

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.

Gold all is not that doth golden seem.

The ever-whirling wheele Of Change, to which all mortal things doth sway.

But O the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels, he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.

In vain he seeketh others to suppress, Who hath not learn'd himself first to subdue.

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.

I trow that countenance cannot lie,Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.

O sacred hunger of ambitious minds.

Through knowledge we behold the world's creation, How in his cradle first he fostered was; And judge of Nature's cunning operation, How things she formed of a formless mass.

Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square,From the first point of his appointed sourse,And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse.

Where justice grows, there grows eke greater grace.

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.

How many perils doe enfold The righteous man to make him daily fall.

Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.