Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath close' d Helen's eye. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!
1592 'A Litany in Time of Plague'.
Immortal Spenser, no frailty hath thy fame but the imputation of this idiot's friendship!Thomas Nashe
Beauty is but a flowerWhich wrinkles will devour.Thomas Nashe
'New herrings, new!' we must cry, every time we make ourselves public, or else we shall be christened with a hundred new titles of idiotism.Thomas Nashe
I will confer with thee somewhat gravely, although thou beest a goosecap and hast no judgement.Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king, Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Thomas Nashe
Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore: So fair a summer look for never more. All good things vanish, less than in a day, Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay. Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year; The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear.Thomas Nashe
He that is a traveller must have the back of an ass to bear all, atonguelikethetail ofa dog toflatterall, themouthof a hog to eat all what is set before him, the ear of a merchant to hear all and say nothing; and if this be not the highest step of thraldom, there is no liberty or freedom.Thomas Nashe
Evermore mayst thou be canonized as the Nonparreille of impious epistlers.Thomas Nashe
The Sun shineth as well on the good as the bad: God from on high beholdeth all the workers of iniquity, as well as the upright of heart.Thomas Nashe
Blest is that government where no art thrives.Thomas Nashe
From winter, plague, & pestilence, good Lord, deliver us.Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant kingThomas Nashe
If I be evil intreated, or sent away with a flea in mine ear, let him look that Iwill rail onhimsoundly; nor foranhour or a day, whiles the injury is fresh in my memory; but in some elaborate polished poem, which I will leave to the world when I am dead, to be a living image to all ages of his beggarly parsimony and ignoble illiberality.Thomas Nashe
From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, deliver us!Thomas Nashe