Author: Edmund Spenser
Quotes of Author: Edmund Spenser
The whiles some one did chaunt this louely lay;Ah see, who so faire thing doest faine to see,In springing flowre the image of thy day;Ah see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly sheeDoth first peepe forth with bashfull modestee,That fairer seemes, the lesse ye see her may;Lo see soone after, how more bold and freeHer bared bosome she doth broad display;Loe see soone after, how she fades, and falles away.So passeth, in the passing of a day,Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre,Ne more doth flourish after first decay,That earst was sought to decke both bed and bowre,Of many a Ladie, and many a Paramowre:Gather therefore the Rose, whilest yet is prime,For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre:Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time,Whilest louing thou mayst loued be with equall crime. book-quoteWrath, gealosie, griefe, loue do thus expell:Wrath is a fire, and gealosie a weede,Griefe is a flood, and loue a monster fell;The fire of sparkes, the weede of little seede,The flood of drops, the Monster filth did breede:But sparks, seed, drops, and filth do thus delay;The sparks soone quench, the springing seed outweed,The drops dry vp, and filth wipe cleane away:So shall wrath, gealosie, griefe, loue dye and decay. book-quoteWhat franticke fit {quoth he} hath thus distraughtThee, foolish man, so rash a doome to give?What justice ever other judgement taught,But he should die, who merites not to live?None else to death this man despayring drive,But his owne guiltie mind deserving death.Is then unjust to each his due to give?Or let him die, that loatheth living breath?Or let him die at ease, that liveth here uneath?Who travels by the wearie wandring way,To come unto his wished home in haste,And meetes a flood, that doth his passage stay,Is not great grace to helpe him over past,Or free his feet, that in the myre sticke fast?Most envious man, that grieves at neighbours good,And fond, that joyest in the woe thou hast,Why wilt not let him passe, that long hath stoodUpon the banke, yet wilt thy selfe not passe the flood?He there does now enjoy eternall restAnd happie ease, which thou doest want and crave,And further from it daily wanderest:What if some litle paine the passage have,That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave?Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave?Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.{...}Is not his deed, what ever thing is donne,In heaven and earth? did not he all createTo die againe? all ends that was begonne.Their times in his eternall booke of fateAre written sure, and have their certaine date.Who then can strive with strong necessitie,That holds the world in his still chaunging state,Or shunne the death ordaynd by destinie?When houre of death is come, let none aske whence, nor why.The lenger life, I wote the greater sin,The greater sin, the greater punishment:All those great battels, which thou boasts to win,Through strife, and bloud-shed, and avengement,Now praysd, hereafter deare thou shalt repent:For life must life, and bloud must bloud repay.Is not enough thy evill life forespent?For he, that once hath missed the right way,The further he doth goe, the further he doth stray.Then do no further goe, no further stray,But here lie downe, and to thy rest betake,Th'ill to prevent, that life ensewen may.For what hath life, that may it loved make,And gives not rather cause it to forsake?Feare, sicknesse, age, losse, labour, sorrow, strife,Paine, hunger, cold, that makes the hart to quake;And ever fickle fortune rageth rife,All which, and thousands mo do make a loathsome life.Thou wretched man, of death hast greatest need,If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy state:For never knight, that dared warlike deede,More lucklesse disaventures did amate:Witnesse the dongeon deepe, wherein of lateThy life shut up, for death so oft did call;And though good lucke prolonged hath thy date,Yet death then, would the like mishaps forestall,Into the which hereafter thou maiest happen fall.Why then doest thou, O man of sin, desireTo draw thy dayes forth to their last degree?Is not the measure of thy sinfull hireHigh heaped up with huge iniquitie,Against the day of wrath, to burden thee?Is not enough, that to this Ladie mildeThou falsed hast thy faith with perjurie,And sold thy selfe to serve Duessa vilde,With whom in all abuse thou hast thy selfe defilde?Is not he just, that all this doth beholdFrom highest heaven, and beares an equall eye?Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold,And guiltie be of thine impietie?Is not his law, Let every sinner die:Die shall all flesh? what then must needs be donne,Is it not better to doe willinglie,Then linger, till the glasse be all out ronne?Death is the end of woes: die soone, O faeries sonne. book-quoteNot so {quoth he} love most aboundeth there.For all the walls and windows there are writ,All full of love, and love, and love my deare,And all their talke and studie is of it.Ne any there doth brave or valiant seeme,Unlesse that some gay Mistresse badge he bears:Ne any one himselfe doth ought esteeme,Unlesse he swin in love up to the ears.But they of love and of his sacred lere,{As it should be} all otherwise devise,Then we poore shepheards are accustomd here,And him do sue and serve all otherwise.For with lewd speeches and licentious deeds,His mightie mysteries they do prophane,And use his ydle name to other needs,But as a complement for courting vaine.So him they do not serve as they professe,But make him serve to them for sordid uses,Ah my dread Lord, that doest liege hearts possesse,Avenge they selfe on them for their abuses. book-quote
