Best 137 quotes of Edmund Spenser on MyQuotes

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.

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.

A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine.

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

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

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 flesh doth frailty breed!

All for love, and nothing for reward.

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

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

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

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

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

And painful pleasure turns to pleasing pain.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

Change still doth reign, and keep the greater sway.

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

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

Discord oft in music makes the sweeter lay.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

Fly from wrath; sad be the sights and bitter fruits of war; a thousand furies wait on wrathful swords.

Fondnesse it were for any being free, To covet fetters, though they golden bee.

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

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.

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

For evil deeds may better than bad words be borne.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

Fretting grief the enemy of life.

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

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.

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 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.

Gather the rose of love whilst yet is time.

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.