69 quotes
Fie upon such as say, "Young saints, old devils"! It is no doubt a devilish and damnable saying; for what is not bent in the cradle, will hardly be bowed in the saddle.
A Disputation between a He-Cony-Catcher and a She-Cony-Catcher (1592)
O glorious sun, imagine me the west,
Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!
Pandosto (1588)
Her body Beauty's best-esteemèd bower,
Delicious, comely, dainty, without stain.
Menaphon (1589)
Stop shallow water still running, it will rage; tread on a worm and it will turn.
The more the fox is curst, the better he fares.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (1589)
Waste brings woe, and sorrow hates despair.
Her paps are like fair apples in the prime,
As round as orient pearls, as soft as down;
They never vail their fair through winter's frown,
But from their sweets Love sucks his summertime.
Menaphon (1589)
Cupid abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain.
Orpharion (1599)
The swain did woo; she was nice,
Following fashion, nay'd him twice.
Ciceronis Amor (1589)
Her lips are roses over-wash'd with dew,
Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower;
No frost their fair, no wind doth waste their power,
But by her breath her beauties do renew.
Menaphon (1589)
Time is...Time was...Time is past.
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (1589)
A crown of olives on his helm he had,
As if in peace and war he were adrad.
A Maiden’s Dream (1591)
I had as lief have their room as their company.
Farewell to Folly (1591)
Though men determine, the gods too dispose.
Perimedes (1588)
Fair is my love, for April in her face,
Her lovely breasts September claims his part,
And lordly July in her eyes takes place
But cold December dwelleth in her heart.
Perimedes (1588)
Her cheeks like ripen'd lilies steep'd in wine,
Or fair pomegranate-kernels wash'd in milk,
Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk,
Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline.
Menaphon (1589)
O sir! I love the fruit that treason brings,
But those that are the traitors, them I hate.
Selimus (1594)
Oft times many things fall out between the cup and the lip.
Perimedes (1588)
Not Jove or Nature, should they both agree
To make a woman of the firmament,
Of his mix'd purity could not invent
A sky-born form so beautiful as she.
Menaphon (1589)
Her cheekes like ripened lillies steept in wine,
Or fair pomegranade kernels washt in milke,
Or snow white threds in nets of crimson silke,
Or gorgeous cloudes vpon the Sunnes decline.