Edmund Spenser Quotes

good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete? What! hath some wolfe thy tender lambes ytorne? Or is thy bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete? Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne?

Oft stumbles at a straw.

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

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.

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!

All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

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

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

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.

The Patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate: Hypocrisie him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate.

Good is no good, but if it be spend, God giveth good for none other end.

The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.

What man that sees the ever-whirling wheel Of Change, the which all mortal things doth sway.

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

Greatest god below the sky.

From good to bad, and from bad to worse, From worse unto that is worst of all, And then return to his former fall.

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

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

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.

Yet gold all is not, that doth gold seem, Nor all good knights, that shake well spear and shield:The worth of all men by their end esteem, And then praise, or due reproach them yield.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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