The Tyme Of Youthe
The tyme of youthe is to be spent;
But vice in it shuld be forfent.
Pastymes ther be I nought treulye
Whych one may use, and vice denye;
And they be plesant to God and man,
Those shuld we covit wyn who can;
As featys of armys, and suche other
Wherby actyvenesse oon may utter.
Comparysons in them may lawfully be sett,
For therby corage is suerly owt fett:
Vertue it is then youth for to spend
In goode dysporttys whych it dothe fend.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
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Wherto Shuld I Expresse
Wherto shuld I expresse
My inward hevynes?
No myrth can make me fayn
Tyl that we mete agayne.
Do way, dere hart, not so.
Let no thought yow dysmaye!
Thow ye now parte me fro,
We shall mete when we may.
When I remembyr me
Of your most gentyll mynde,
It may in no wyse agre
That I shuld be unkynde.
The daise delectable,
The violett wan and blo;
Ye ar not varyable;
I love you and no mo.
I make you fast and sure;
It ys to me gret payne
Thus longe to endure,
Tyll that we mete agayne.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
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Knoledge, Acquayntance, Resort, Fauour With Grace
Knoledge, acquayntance, resort, fauour with grace;
Delyte, desyre, respyte wyth lyberte;
Corage wyth lust, conuenient tyme and space;
Dysdayns, dystres, exylyd cruelte;
Wordys well set with good habylyte;
Demure demenaunce, womanly of porte;
Transendyng plesure, surmountyng all dysporte;
Allectuary arrectyd to redres
These feuerous axys, the dedely wo and payne
Of thoughtfull hertys plungyd in dystres;
Refresshyng myndys the Aprell shoure of rayne;
Condute of comforte, and well most souerayne;
Herber enverduryd, contynuall fressh and grene;
Of lusty somer the passyng goodly quene;
The topas rych and precyouse in vertew;
Your ruddys wyth ruddy rubys may compare;
Saphyre of sadnes, enuayned wyth indy blew;
The pullyshed perle youre whytenes doth declare;
Dyamand poyntyd to rase oute hartly care;
Geyne surfetous suspecte the emeraud commendable;
Relucent smaragd, obiecte imcomperable;
Encleryd myrroure and perspectyue most bryght,
Illumynyd wyth feturys far passyng my reporte;
Radyent Esperus, star of the clowdy nyght,
Lode star to lyght these louers to theyr porte,
Gayne dangerous stormys theyr anker of supporte,
Theyr sayll of solace most comfortably clad,
Whych to behold makyth heuy hartys glad:
Remorse haue I of youre most goodlyhod,
Of youre behauoure curtes and benynge,
Of your bownte and of youre womanhod,
Which makyth my hart oft to lepe and sprynge,
And to remember many a praty thynge;
But absens, alas, wyth tremelyng fere and drede
Abashyth me, albeit I haue no nede.
You I assure, absens is my fo,
My dedely wo, my paynfull heuynes;
And if ye lyst to know the cause why so,
Open myne hart, beholde my mynde expres:
I wold ye coud ! then shuld ye se, mastres,
How there nys thynge that I couet so fayne
As to enbrace you in myne armys twayne.
Nothynge yerthly to me more desyrous
Than to beholde youre bewteouse countenaunce:
But, hatefull absens, to me so enuyous,
Though thou withdraw me from her by long dystaunce,
Yet shall she neuer oute of remembraunce;
For I haue grauyd her wythin the secret wall
Of my trew hart, to loue her best of all!
Qd Skelton, laureat.
poem by John Skelton
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A cruel beast
Corruption,
A vice so loved.
The voiceless,
Suffer in its hands.
The powerful,
Feast its fruits,
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Land,
From it emanate.
Mansions,
Like mushroom they sprout.
Cars,
Like bees they swarm.
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Poverty,
A son to it has become,
Who,
A by-product is,
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Mercy,
To it is rubbish,
Prosperity,
In its mind constantly dwells.
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
poem by Michael Wamalwa
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To all the rest of his Absurdities, (for vice is always unreasonable,) he adds one more, who expects that Vertue from another which he won't practise himself.
quote by Mary Astell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whoso That Wyll All Feattes Optayne
Whoso that wyll all feattes optayne,
In love he must be withowt dysdayne,
For love enforyth all nobyle kynd
And dysdayne dyscorages all gentyl mynd.
Wherefor to love and be not loved
Is wors then deth? Let it be proved!
Love encoragith and makyth on bold;
Dysdayne abattyth and makith hym colde.
Love ys gevyn to God and man;
To woman also, I thynk, the same.
But dysdayne ys vice and shuld be refused;
Yet never the lesse it ys to moch used.
Whoso that wyll all feattes optayne,
In love he must be withowt dysdayne,
Grett pyte it ware, love for to compell
With dysdayne both falce and subtell.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
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I remember one time that I was filming a scene in whych my character rides through Troy on a chariot. I just looked around at this incredible set thinking 'This is the life'.
quote by Orlando Bloom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the midst of vice we are in virtue, and vice versa.
quote by Samuel Butler
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If Love Now Reynyd
If love now reynyd as it hath bene
And war rewardit as it hath sene,
Nobyll men then wold suer enserch
All ways wherby thay myght it rech;
But envy reynyth with such dysdayne,
And causith lovers owtwardly to refrayne,
Which puttes them to more and more
Inwardly most grevous and sore;
The faut in whome I cannot sett;
But let them tell which love doth gett.
To lovers I put now suer this cace -
Which of ther loves doth get them grace?
And unto them which doth it know
Better than do I, I thynk it so.
poem by Henry VIII King of England
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Let's not talk so much about vice. I'm against vice in all forms.
quote by John F. Kennedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Grow the Rashes
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
The warl'y race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An' warl'y cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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J' Accuse, ' Of Vice and Men
Of Vice and Men.
Here in my pen,
There is so much to say,
The same old song,
Man's got it wrong,
He cannot find his way.
The Conquering Lie,
Time does defy,
We're all caught in the Web,
No matter how the people try,
They'll never get ahead.
The Tribal Chief,
Promotes our grief,
Democracy defies,
Unjustly does he hide the Truth,
To better, Tyrannize.
Man's History, a mystery,
Of fiction and of lies,
Of Demagogues, and Red-eyed Rouges,
Where Liberty just dies!
Uncivilized, we still remain,
Is war a way of life?
Can Man only perpetuate,
Unhappiness and strife?
It's time to Stop,
War, murder, drop,
The innocent despair,
The Lives are lost,
Dictators, boast,
And who is there to care?
Of Vice and Men,
And Wars and Lies,
There's still so much to say,
We realize, that man just tries,
But Evil has it's way.
Of Vice and Men and Men and mice,
One day we shall recall,
That men were mice,
With so much Vice,
and that finished us All.
poem by Sandra Feldman
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Sonnet- You Can't Have Opposites
When vice and virtues are but parallel lines,
The former moves backward, latter forward;
No one can take the mixture of such wines;
No one can be both fish and also bird.
There ain't a hybrid of vice and virtues;
There ain't a place where both of them can meet;
Just one and only one, a man must choose;
You can't have Heaven's joy and Hell's great heat.
The virtuous way is like climbing a hill;
The road to vice is like slipping from one;
While God rewards Heaven as former's bill,
The latter, yields hell's eternal fire-den!
One can't be both a good and bad a man;
You try to have Heaven and hell, how can?
poem by John Celes
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It is a socialist idea that making profits is a vice. I consider the real vice is making losses.
quote by Winston Churchill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I talked to him on the phone yesterday. I called him George rather than Mr. Vice President. But, in public, it's Mr. Vice President, because that is who he is.
quote by Dan Quayle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unisex Alco Metaphor
I ain’t no alco you know
I just sometimes take a drink
A drink a drink for a big think
‘Cause I’ve got no G G for a horse
Like
I ain’t no vice president
But the vice presides in me
Don’t worry I’m a nice also metaphor
‘Cause I can stop before I ‘plop’
Into saying something quite smart
Such as
Tequila lemon salt
Guerilla demons halt
Or something quite unique
Such as..er
We’re all those things we aren’t
And not always those things we are
Which is
Quite unisex I think
Should anybody sane be reading this
You might slip into a hush hush thought
Thinking this ‘Socrates’
Is really ‘spoiling the youth’
And the metaphor will stand
Quite defenseless
So just…say nothing.
No comment, please.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Balade In Praise of Chaucer
Master Geffray Chauser, that now lyth in grave,
The nobyll rethoricien, and poet of Gret Bretayne,
That worthy was the lawrer of poetry have
For thys hys labour, and the palme attayne;
Whych furst made to dystyll and reyne
The gold dew-dropys of speche and eloquence
In-to Englyssh tong, thorow hys excellence.
Explicit
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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I'm going to be a vice president very much like George Bush was. He proved to be a very effective vice president, perhaps the most effective we've had in a couple of hundred years.
quote by Dan Quayle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is easier to run from virtue to vice, than from vice to virtue.
On My Aunt Mrs. A. K.
Drown'd under London-bridge, in the Queens Bardge, Anno 1641
The Darling of a Father Good and Wise,
The Vertue, which a Vertuous Age did prize;
The Beauty Excellent even to those were Faire,
Subscrib'd unto, by such as might compare;
The Star that 'bove her Orb did always move,
And yet the Noblest did not Hate, but Love;
And those who most upon their Title stood,
Vail'd also to, because she did more Good.
To whom the Wrong'd, and Worthy did resort,
And held their Sutes obtain'd, if only brought;
The highest Saint in all the Heav'n of Court.
So Noble was her Aire, so Great her Meen,
She seem'd a Friend, not Servant to the Queen.
To Sin, if known, she never did give way,
Vice could not Storm her, could it not betray.
When angry Heav'n extinguisht her fair Light,
It seem'd to say, Nought's Precious in my sight;
As I in Waves this Paragon have drown'd,
The Nation next, and King I will confound.
poem by Anne Killigrew
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When the Odds r Against u
12/12/08
Sumtimezz u juss wanna escape this crazy place called life
Shyt juss starts getting too rough
Livin juss seems to tough
Why shuld u go on?
If ur up against all da odds?
If dey got ya back against the wall
Pushin u lower, Showin u farther
Got u feelin like ur not much more than the dog shyt nd piss sittin beside ya
U wanna jump off a roof
Juss drink nd smoke til u go poof!
How r u supposed to look at the guud life?
Think about wat da future holds?
If da present life juss aint worth thinkin bout
It aint worth thinkin bout da future
Dreams become deferred
Shyt juss blows up in ya face
Ya life starts crumbling like a building
Ashes r wat remains of ur existence
How r u supposed to rise like the phoenix
How do u get urself up, after uve been thrown down farther than a dead mans body
Is it possible to resurrect urself?
Or shuld u take da easy route
Accept defeat, nd take urself out of dis place
Seems so easy
To pull da trigger
Jump off the building
Cut off that supply of oxygen nd life
Juss take ya self out nd life goes on
Shyt goes away
There will b no memories
No more worryin
No more cryin
No more stressing
No more pain to endure
You eliminate yourself…Problem solved
But is that really the answer?
-Candice N. George
poem by Candice George
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