That now is hay some-tyme was grase
Who clymbeth hyest gothe ofte base,
Ensample in medowes thow mayst se
That nowe is heye some tyme was grase.
Lenvoye.
Go forth anon, thou short dite,
Bydde folke not trust this worlde at all,
Bydde theme remembre on e cite
Which is a-bove celestiall;
Of precious stones bylt is the wall,
Who clymbeth theder gothe nevar base,
Out of that place may be no fall,
Ther is no heye but all fresh grase.
poem by John Lydgate
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Related quotes
Si Ya Se Acabo
Dime que paso
Se te olivido mi nombre
O ya quiza yo no te importo mas
Yo te conozco bien
Tus ojos no lo esconden
Estas indiferente y me hace mal
Si nuestro amor no da mas
Asi como se fue otro venora
Si ya se acabo tu amor
Te quendan las caricias que grase en tu piel
Amandote
Si ya se acabo tu amor
Me quedo con la fuerzade pooer tener
A quien querer
El tiempo
Que ti di
No fue tiempo perdido
Yo me quede con lo mejor de ti
Me diste una ilusion
Un sueno y un destino
La fa que me faltaba por vivir
Si nuestro amor no da mas
Asi como se fue otro vendra
Si ya se acabo tu amor
Te quendan las caricias que grase en tu piel
Amandote
Si ya se acabo tu amor
Me quedo con la fuerzade pooer tener
A quien querer
Si necesitas algo tu de mi
NO dudes yo estoy agui
No fuiste solo uno mas
Alogmuy mio vive en ti
Si ya se acabo tu amor
Te quendan las caricias que grase en tu piel
Amandote
Si ya se acabo tu amor
Me quedo con la fuerzade pooer tener
A quien querer
song performed by by Jennifer Lopez from J. Lo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Departing Favorite
Thou mayst retire, but think of me
When thou art gone afar,
Where'er in life thy travels be,
If tost along the brackish sea,
Or borne upon the car.
Thou mayst retire, I care not where,
Thy name my theme shall be;
With thee in heart I shall be there,
Content thy good or ill to share,
If dead to lodge with thee.
Thou mayst retire beyond the deep,
And leave thy sister train,
To roam the wilds where dangers sleep,
And leave affection sad to weep
In bitterness and pain.
Thou mayst retire, and yet be glad
To leave me thus alone,
Lamenting and bewailing sad;
Farewell, thy sunk deluded lad
May rise when thou art gone.
poem by George Moses Horton
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 43
A pious man saw an acrobat in great dudgeon, full of wrath and foaming at the mouth. He asked: ‘What is the matter with this fellow?’ A bystander said: ‘Someone has insulted him.’ He remarked: ‘This base wretch is able to lift a thousand mann of stones and has not the power to bear one word.’
Abandon thy claim to strength and manliness.
Thou art weak-minded and base, whether thou be a man or woman.
If thou art able, make a sweet mouth.
It is not manliness to strike the fist on a mouth.
Although able to tear up an elephant’s front
He is not a man who possessed no humanity.
A man’s nature is of earth.
If he is not humble he is not a man.
A Newe Ballade Made Of Thomas Crumwel, Called Trolle On Away
Trolle on away, trolle on awaye,
Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away.
Both man and chylde is glad to here tell
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwell,
Now that he is set to learn to spell.
Synge trolle on away.
When fortune lokyd the in thy face,
Thou haddyst fayre tyme, but thou lackydyst grace;
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.
Synge trolle on away.
Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst,
Thou lockydst them vp where no man wyst,
Tyll in the kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst.
Synge trolle on away.
Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy handes,
Thy marchaundyse sayled over the sandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes.
Synge trolle on away.
Fyrste when Kynge Henry, God saue his Grace!
Perceyud myschefe kyndlyd in thy face,
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.
Synge trolle on away.
Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,
Mouyed with petye, and made the hys seruyture;
But thou, as a wretche, suche thinges dyd procure.
Synge trolle on away.
Thou dyd not remembre, false heretyke,
One God, one fayth, and one kynge catholyke,
For thou hast bene so long a scysmatyke.
Synge trolle on away.
Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre;
But euer was full of iniquite:
Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.
Synge trolle on away.
All they, that were of the new trycke,
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke;
Wherfore nowe thou hast touchyd the quycke.
Synge trolle on away.
Both sacramentes and sacrementalles
Thou woldyst not suffre within thy walles;
Nor let vs praye for all chrysten soules.
Synge trolle on away.
Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syschemell,
Or else sent vs frome the deuyll of hell.
Synge trolle on away.
Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye,
And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye.
Synge trolle on away.
Who-so-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose;
Wherfore all Englande doth hate the, as I suppose,
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose.
Synge trolle on away.
Thou myghtest have learned thy cloth to flocke
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke;
Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.
Synge trolle on away.
Yet saue that soule, that God hath bought,
And for thy carcas care thou nought,
Let it suffre payne, as it hath wrought.
Synge trolle on away.
God saue Kyng Henry with all his power,
And Prynce Edwarde, that goodly flower,
With al hys lordes of great honoure.
Synge trolle on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Which Bland Existence Has a Bigger Fan Base?
Which bland existence
Has a bigger fan base?
A dollar worth less,
Than half of its value...
Is falling faster as propaganda rises,
To keep lifestyles fantasized.
Lies are blatant...
As those who speak truth,
Are criticized and despised
For trying to correct by...
Eliminating the act of spying.
While religious zealots,
Dance hypocritically from pulpits.
With sermons denouncing demons!
To leave congrgations in hunger.
Driving away in luxury,
Tax free!
On ther backs of those who give!
Which bland existence,
Has a bigger fan base?
The one already mentioned?
Or the one reality is for them out of place!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fragments - Lines 0183 - 0192
Among rams and asses and horses, Kyrnos, we look for those
Of noble breeding, and a man wants them to mate
From worthy stock. Yet a noble man does not mind marrying
A base woman of base birth if she brings him money in abundance,
Nor does a woman shrink from becoming the wife of a base man
With wealth; she prefers a rich husband to a worthy one.
Money is what they honor; the noble weds a base man's daughter,
The base a worthy man's: wealth mixes stock.
Thus do not be amazed, son of Polypaos, that the citizen's stock
Is growing feeble, for what is noble is being mixed with what is base.
Truth
Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastnesse,
Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal;
For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelnesse,
Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal.
Savour no more thanne the byhove schal;
Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reede;
And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.
Tempest the nought al croked to redresse,
In trust of hire that tourneth as a bal.
Myche wele stant in litel besynesse;
Bywar therfore to spurne ayeyns an al;
Stryve not as doth the crokke with the wal.
Daunte thiself, that dauntest otheres dede;
And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede.
That the is sent, receyve in buxumnesse;
The wrestlyng for the worlde axeth a fal.
Here is non home, here nys but wyldernesse.
Forth, pylgryme, forth! forth, beste, out of thi stal!
Know thi contré! loke up! thonk God of al!
Hold the heye weye, and lat thi gost the lede;
And trouthe shal delyvere, it is no drede.
[L'envoy.]
Therfore, thou Vache, leve thine olde wrechednesse;
Unto the world leve now to be thral.
Crie hym mercy, that of hys hie godnesse
Made the of nought, and in espec{.i}al
Draw unto hym, and pray in general
For the, and eke for other, hevenelyche mede;
And trouthe schal delyvere, it is no drede.
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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A cylinder is hollow.
A rise is bound by the top.
A fall is bound by the base.
A cylinder has no top, no base.
But, mind, it is viewed as hollow.
10.02.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Chaucers Wordes unto Adam
Adam scriveyn, if ever it thee bifalle
Boece or Troylus for to wryten newe,
Under thy long lokkes thou most have the scalle,
But after my makyng thow wryte more trewe;
So ofte adaye I mot thy werk renewe,
It to correcte and eke to rubbe and scrape,
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Delia XXXIII: When men shall find thy flower, thy glory, pa
XXXIII
When men shall find thy flower, thy glory, pass,
And thou with careful brow sitting alone
Received hast this message from thy glass,
That tells thee truth and says that all is gone:
Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest,
Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining;
I that have lov'd thee thus before thou fadest,
My faith shall wax when thou art in thy waning.
The world shall find this miracle in me,
That fire can burn when all the matter's spent;
Then what my faith hath been thyself shall see,
And that thou wast unkind thou mayst repent.
Thou mayst repent that thou hast scorn'd my tears,
When winter snows upon thy golden hairs.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Sonnet XLI: When Men Shall Find
When men shall find thy flower, thy glory pass,
And thou with carefull brow sitting alone,
Received hast this message from thy glass,
That tells thee truth, and says that all is gone,
Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madest;
Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining.
I that have lov'd thee thus before thou fadest,
My faith shall wax, when thou art in thy waning.
The world shall find this miracle in me,
That fire can burn, when all the matter's spent;
Then what my faith hath been thy self shalt see,
And that thou wast unkind thou mayst repent.
Thou mayst repent, that thou hast scorn'd my tears,
When Winter snows upon thy golden hairs.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Church Monuments
While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust
My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at jet and marble put for signs,
To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent, that when thou shalt grow fat
And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.
poem by George Herbert
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The Sky-Lark’s Song
WINGED voice to tell the skies of earth,
Dear earth-born lark, sing on, sing clear,
Sing into heaven that she may hear
;Sing what thou wilt, so she but know
Thine ecstasy of summer mirth
And think ''Tis from the world below!'
Instant, old wont returns fresh brought,
And her desire goes seeking me,
For whom her whole world used to be
And all my world for sake of her;
She cannot think an earthward thought
That shall not seem my messenger.
She will be glad for love, and smile,
Saying 'Thank God for joy like ours:
Saying 'There come the kind home hours:
His work-day will be sped ere long,
That keeps him hence this little while.
'Sing, lark, until she know thy song.
Sing of the earth, but sing no care,
Sing thine own measureless content;
She will remember what it meant;
Griefs are too base, but, carolling thus,
Thou with thy joy mayst reach her there,
And she joy too remembering us.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Epitaph of Hipponax
Behold Hipponax' burialplace,
A true bard's grave.
Approach it not, if you're a base
And base-born knave.
But if your sires were honest men
And unblamed you,
Sit down thereon serenely then,
And eke sleep too.
Tuneful Hipponax rests him here.
Let no base rascal venture near.
Ye who rank high in birth and mind
Sit down-and sleep, if so inclined.
poem by Theocritus
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Mirror On The Wall
Mirror on the wall,
Mirror on the wall,
Who's the baddest of them all?
Crook, thief, robber,
Hypocrite, liar, mugger,
Adulterer and traitor;
The good and the bad,
Happy and sad,
Guru and lad.
All be the same,
All be damned,
Once dead all be same.
Woe upon all men!
For we all bent:
Both sinner and saint.
The best and worst,
Blessed and cursed,
We all live under sin's curse.
We all were lost,
We all were shot,
We all had to pay a cost.
Doomed to die,
Sin the reason why;
But salvation was drawing nigh.
Mirror on the wall,
Mirror on the wall,
Who's the purest of them all?
The King Jesus Christ:
The one who saves us,
The only one with the price.
Jesus came to earth:
To save the best,
To save the worst.
He didn't judge but save
Anyone who came:
To them the remedy he gave.
Now we, forgiven,
We look on those broken:
Hearts closed rather than open.
We pick up stones,
And stones we throw-
At those who are alone.
In our lens, life's seen:
Ourselves in high esteem.
We forget the one who did redeem.
Cause he came for them:
The base and scum.
For them did he come.
Of which we once were:
For him too we hurt-
We too spat upon his shirt.
Help us, God, to see,
Who we really be-
Sinners set free.
Mirror on the wall,
Mirror on the wall,
Who's the baddest of them all?
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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It's Like Mrs.Chakki's Base
‘It's like Mrs.Chakki’s base’-
It’s a saying in a countryside.
Her husband and the camels
Walk together in the desert.
It’s his first return:
Riyals bless the soul of their dream
With a body; a base of home
Takes its birth on the canal bank.
The oasis allures him again:
He flies over the Arabian sea,
Leaving the base with Mrs.Chakki.
Dream balls roll in her eyes.
She awaits in sweet expectancy,
But the postman passes by,
Like her days,
Holding not out a letter for her.
The decades slip into
The barranca of past,
Leaving wrinkles and silver streaks
On her dreams.
The time partitions every hole
And every chink in the base –
Mongooses, bandicoots
And rats get due shares.
“Will he ever return, Chakki? ”
Silent answer fills her eyes.
‘It's like Mrs.Chakki’s base’-
It’s a saying, and an ember as well.
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Progress always involves risk you can't steal second base and keep your foot on first base.
quote by Frederick Wilcox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It seemed that rebellion must have an unassailable base, something guarded not merely from attack, but from the fear of it: such a base as we had in the Red Sea Parts, the desert, or in the minds of the men we converted to our creed.
quote by T.E. Lawrence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Golden Mean
Greed, pride, envy, dishonesty and lust
Contentment, modesty, honesty and trust
All are good in their own place
Golden mean is the life's base
(2008/6/16)
poem by Persian Nightingale
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To His Muse
Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam?
Far safer 'twere to stay at home;
Where thou mayst sit, and piping, please
The poor and private cottages.
Since cotes and hamlets best agree
With this thy meaner minstrelsy.
There with the reed thou mayst express
The shepherd's fleecy happiness;
And with thy Eclogues intermix:
Some smooth and harmless Bucolics.
There, on a hillock, thou mayst sing
Unto a handsome shepherdling;
Or to a girl, that keeps the neat,
With breath more sweet than violet.
There, there, perhaps such lines as these
May take the simple villages;
But for the court, the country wit
Is despicable unto it.
Stay then at home, and do not go
Or fly abroad to seek for woe;
Contempts in courts and cities dwell
No critic haunts the poor man's cell,
Where thou mayst hear thine own lines read
By no one tongue there censured.
That man's unwise will search for ill,
And may prevent it, sitting still.
poem by Robert Herrick
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