Waste brings woe, and sorrow hates despair.
quote by Robert Greene
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I know My God commands, whose power no power resists.
quote by Robert Greene
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For as one star another far exceeds, So souls in heaven are placed by their deeds.
quote by Robert Greene
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Though men determine, the gods doo dispose: and oft times many things fall out betweene the cup and the lip.
quote by Robert Greene
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Maesia's Song
SWEET are the thoughts that savor of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
The homely house that harbors quiet rest;
The cottage that affords no pride nor care;
The mean that 'grees with country music best;
The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare;
Obscurèd life sets down a type of bliss:
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
poem by Robert Greene
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Sweet are the Thoughts that Savour of Content
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
The homely house that harbours quiet rest;
The cottage that affords no pride nor care;
The mean that 'grees with country music best;
The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare;
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss:
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
poem by Robert Greene
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The Description Of Sir Geoffrey Chaucer
HIS stature was not very tall,
Lean he was, his legs were small,
Hosed within a sock of red,
A buttoned bonnet on his head,
From under which did hang, I ween,
Silver hairs both bright and sheen.
His beard was white, trimmèd round,
His countenance blithe and merry found.
His sleeveless jacket large and wide,
With many plights and skirts side,
Of water camlet did he wear;
A whittle by his belt he wear,
His shoes were cornered, broad before,
His inkhorn at his side he wore,
And in his hand he bore a book.
Thus did this ancient poet look.
poem by Robert Greene
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Farewell to Folly
1 Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
2 The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
3 Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
4 The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:
5 Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
6 Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
7 The homely house that harbours quiet rest;
8 The cottage that affords no pride nor care;
9 The mean that 'grees with country music best;
10 The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare;
11 Obscured life sets down a type of bliss:
12 A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
poem by Robert Greene
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Cupid Abroad Was Lated
CUPID abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight
To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain:
I oped the door and granted his desire,
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.
Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging by his back.
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone, for fear of further wrack;
But what I drad did me, poor wretch, betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.
He pierced the quick, and I began to start,
A pleasing wound but that it was too high;
His shaft procured a sharp yet sugared smart.
Away he flew, for why is wings were dry;
But left the arrow sticking in my breast,
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest.
poem by Robert Greene
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Weep Not, My Wanton
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe:
Fortune changèd made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies:
Thus he grieved in every part,Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
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poem by Robert Greene
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