Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?
Whether your time calls you to live or die do both like a prince.
Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare, Fond Fancy's scum and dregs of scattered thought, Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care, Thou web of will whose end is never wrought; Desire! desire, I have too dearly bought With price of mangled mind thy worthless ware;
Who doth desire that chaste his wife should be, first be he true, for truth doth truth deserve.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite: Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart and write!
Who shoots at the mid-day sun, though he be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure he is he shall shoot higher than who aims but at a bush.
Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.
Who will adhere to him that abandons himself?
The wand is will; thou, fancy, saddle art, Girt fast by memory; and while I spur My horse, he spurs with sharp desire my heart.
To be rhymed to death as is said to be done in Ireland.
Wickedness may well be compared to a bottomless pit, into which it is easier to keep one's self from falling, than, being fallen, to give one's self any stay from falling infinitely.
The wont of highest hearts, like the palm tree striving most upward when he is most burdened.
To the disgrace of men it is seen, that there are women both more wise to judge what evil is expected, and more constant to bear it when it is happened.
With a tale, for sooth, he comet unto you; with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner.
The worst kind of oligarchy is, when men are governed indeed by a few, and yet are not taught to know what those few be whom they should obey.
To those persons who have vomited out of their souls all remnants of goodness, there rests a certain pride in evil; and having else no shadow of glory left them, they glory to be constant in iniquity.
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face!
Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see; Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.
True, that true beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed. True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move. True, and yet true that I must Stella love.
Without mounting by degrees, a man cannot attain to high things; and the breaking of the ladder still casteth a man back, and maketh the thing wearisome, which was easy.
Then will be the time to die nobly, when you cannot live nobly.
Unlawful desires are punished after the effect of enjoying; but impossible desires are punished in the desire itself.
Yea, worse than death: death parts both woe and joy: From joy I part, still living in annoy.
There have been many most excellent poets that have never versified, and now swarm many versifiers that need never answer to the name of poets.
We become willing servants to the good by the bonds their virtues lay upon us.