Edmund Spenser Quotations

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.

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

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

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

Gold all is not that doth golden seem.

And all for love, and nothing for reward.

The poets scrolls will outlive the monuments of stone. 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

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

There is no disputing about taste.

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

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

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.

Sluggish idleness--the nurse of sin.

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

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

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

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

Each goodly thing is hardest to begin.

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

The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.

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

So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life, the leaf, the bud, the flower; No more doth flourish after first decay, That erst was sought to deck both bed and bower Of many a lady and many a paramour. Gather therefore the rose whilst yet in prime, For soon comes age that will her pride deflower. Gather the rose of love whilst yet in time, Whilst loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime.

For that which all men then did virtue call, Is now called vice; and that which vice was hight, Is now hight virtue, and so used of all: Right now is wrong, and wrong that was is right

I learned have, not to despise,What ever thing seemes small in common eyes.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

Where justice grows, there grows eke greater grace.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

But times do change and move continually.

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

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

Then came October, full of merry glee.

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

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

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.

And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.

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

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

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.

For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.

What man so wise, what earthly wit so ware, As to descry the crafty cunning train, By which deceit doth mask in visor fair, And cast her colours dyed deep in grain, To seem like truth, whose shape she well can feign, And fitting gestures to her purpose frame, The guiltless man with guile to entertain?

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.

In one consort there sat cruel revenge and rancorous despite, disloyal treason and heart-burning hate.

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

Who would ever care to do brave deed, Or strive in virtue others to excel, If none should yield him his deserved meed Due praise, that is the spur of doing well? For if good were not praised more than ill, None would choose goodness of his own free will.

For if good were not praised more than ill, None would chuse goodness of his own free will.

And painefull pleasure turnes to pleasing paine.

The nightingale is sovereign of song.

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

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

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.

For next to Death is Sleepe to be compared; Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, ther Richesse, and hel-gate them both betwext.

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

Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state, Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying Thought

For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.

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.

Greatest god below the sky.

Woe to the man that first did teach the cursed steel to bite in his own flesh, and make way to the living spirit!

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.

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

The fish once caught, new bait will hardly bite.

Bright as does the morning star appear, Out of the east with flaming locks bedight, To tell the dawning day is drawing near.

All flesh doth frailty breed!

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!

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

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.

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