37 quotes
There is no sting to the worm of conscience.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Her necke like to a stately towre,
Where Love himselfe imprisoned lies.
Rosalynde (1590)
Her neck is like a stately tower,
Where Love himself imprison'd lies.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Your nose bewrays what porridge you love.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Will you have all for your own tooth?
A Defence of Poetry (1579)
Well, sir, if your market may be made no where else, home again, for your mart is at the fairest.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,
Her body every way is fed,
Yet soft in touch, and sweet in view.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
I have a longing tooth...that makes me cry.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Nothing liked, where nothing wanted.
Phyllis (1593)
Aliena...spied where the hare was by the hounds, and could see day at a little hole.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Aliena...said the wedding was not worth a pin, unless there were some cheer.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Her cheekes are like the blushing clowde
That beautefies Auroraes face
Like to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame colour is her hair,
Whether unfolded or in twines:
Heigh, ho, fair Rosalynde!
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)
Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure,
Youthful lordings, of delight;
Whilst occasion gives you seizure,
Feed your fancies and your sight:
After death, when you are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.
Robert the Devil (1591)
Her paps are centres of delight,
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light
To feed perfection with the same
Rosalynde (1590)
Her eyes are Saphires set in snow,
Refining heaven by everie winke;
The Gods doo feare when as they glow,
And I doo tremble when I thinke.
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
First time shall stay his stayless race,
And Winter bless his brows with corn,
And snow bemoisten July’s face,
And winter spring, and summer mourn,
Before my pen by help of fame
Cease to recite thy sacred name.
Rosalynde: Euphues' Golden Legacy (1590)