Robert Greene Quotes
1558–1592 England
Robert Greene (probably baptised July 11, 1558, died September 3, 1592) was an English poet, dramatist, romance-writer and pamphleteer.
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Random Robert Greene quote
69 quotes
Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow,
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall!
Gloomy was Heaven; bright Phœbus did avow
He would be coy, and would not love at all;
Swearing no greater mischief could be wrought,
Than love united to a jealous thought.
As fair Aurora in her morning-grey,
Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love,
Is fair Samela.
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day,
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
Shines fair Samela.
Menaphon (1589)
So soon kills not the basilisk with sight,
The viper's tooth is not so venomous,
The adder's tongue not half so dangerous,
As they that bear the shadow of delight,
Who chain blind youths in trammels of their hair,
Till waste brings woe, and sorrow hastes despair.
Groatsworth of Wit (1592)
Deceiving world, that with alluring toys
Hast made my life the subject of thy scorn,
And scornest now to lend thy fading joys,
T'outlength my life, whom friends have left forlorn;
How well are they that die ere they be born,
And never see thy sleights, which few men shun
Till unawares they helpless are undone!
Groatsworth of Wit (1592)
Like to Diana in her summer-weed,
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
Goes fair Samela;
Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed
When wash'd by Arethusa Fount they lie,
Is fair Samela.
Menaphon (1589)
Thus fair Samela
Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
And Juno in the show of majesty,
For she's Samela;
Pallas in wit, all three, if you well view.
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity,
Yield to Samela.
Menaphon (1589)
A Looking-Glass for London (c. 1590), written with Thomas Lodge
A penny for your thought!
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (1589)
Love in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweet:
Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:
Ah! wanton, will ye?
Misattributed