Edmund Waller Famous Quotes
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So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.
Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
His kingdom come! For this we pray in vain,
Unless He does in our affections reign.
How fond it were to wish for such a King,
And no obedience to his sceptre bring,
Whose yoke is easy, and His burthen light;
His service freedom, and His judgments right.
The fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace;
And makes all ills that vex us here to cease.
A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.
And keeps the palace of the soul.
While we converse with her, we mark
No want of day, nor think it dark.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
In other things the knowing artist may Judge better than the people; but a play, (Made for delight, and for no other use) If you approve it not, has no excuse.
Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade, And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
The fear of hell, or aiming to be blest, savors too much of private interest.
Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.
To man, that was in th' evening made,
Stars gave the first delight;
Admiring, in the gloomy shade,
Those little drops of light.
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
To love is to believe, to hope, to know;
'Tis an essay, a taste of Heaven below!
Thrice happy is that humble pair, Beneath the level of all care! Over whose heads those arrows fly, Of sad distrust and jealousy.
Since thou wouldst needs, bewitched with some ill charms, Be buried in those monumental arms: As we can wish, is, may that earth lie light Upon thy tender limbs, and so good night.
All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.
Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Happy is she that from the world retires, and carries with her what the world admires.
Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.
