Edmund Waller quotes:

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.

Vexed sailors cursed the rain, for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.

And as pale sickness does invade, Your frailer part, the breaches made, In that fair lodging still more clear, Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build, Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade, And keeps that palace of the soul serene.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become.

Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

The rising sun complies with our weak sight, First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light At such a distance from our eyes, as though He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.

To love is to believe, to hope, to know; Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!

Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song.

To love is to believe, to hope, to know; 'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse."

So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.

The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace; And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light.

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.

His kingdom come!" For this we pray in vain, Unless He does in our affections reign. How fond it were to wish for such a King, And no obedience to his sceptre bring, Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light; His service freedom, and His judgments right.

The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, savors too much of private interest.

All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.

His love at once and dread instruct our thought; As man He suffer'd and as God He taught.

Music so softens and disarms the mind That not an arrow does resistance find.

He that alone would wise and mighty be,Commands that others love as well as he.Love as he lov'd! - How can we soar so high?-He can add wings when he commands to fly.Nor should we be with this command dismay'd;He that examples gives will give his aid:For he took flesh, that where his precepts fall,His practice, as a pattern, may prevail.

Could we forbear dispute, and practice love,We should agree as angels do above.Where love presides, not vice alone does findNo entrance there, hut virtues stay behind:Both faith, and hope, and all the meaner trainOf mortal virtues, at the door remain.Love only enters as a native there,For born in heav'n, it does but sojourn here.

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.

While we converse with her, we mark No want of day, nor think it dark.

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.

Fade, flowers, fade! Nature will have it so; 'tis but what we in our autumn do.

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.

Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.

With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.

Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.

Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.

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

Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.

Seeming devotion does but gild a knave, That's neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave; But where religion does with virtue join, It makes a hero like an angel shine.

When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.

What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, where men regard no God but interest?

In other things the knowing artist may Judge better than the people; but a play, (Made for delight, and for no other use) If you approve it not, has no excuse.

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.

My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!

The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.

Poets that lasting marble seek Must come in Latin or in Greek.

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.

For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.

How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast, That still the knot, in spite of death, does last; For as your tears, and sorrow-wounded soul, Prove well that on your part this bond is whole, So all we know of what they do above, Is that they happy are, and that they love. Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave, Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have; Well-chosen love is never taught to die, But with our nobler part invades the sky.

Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.

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.

That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Lampoons, like squibs, may make a present blaze; but time and thunder pay respect to bays.

Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.

And keeps the palace of the soul.

Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made.