Sonnet 75: Of All The Kings
Of all the kings that ever here did reign,
Edward nam'd Fourth, as first in praise I name;
Not for his fair outside, nor well-lin'd brain,
Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame:
Nor that he could young-wise, wise-valiant frame
His sire's revenge, join'd with a kingdom's gain;
And, gain'd by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame,
That balance weigh'd what sword did late obtain;
Nor that he made the Flow'r-de-luce so 'fraid,
Though strongly hedg'd of bloody Lion's paws,
That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid;
Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause,
But only for this worthy knight durst prove
To lose his crown, rather than fail his love.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Related quotes
Being wise and fool
Big gain big loss is a risk.
No gain no loss is secure.
Small gain small loss is safe.
Small gain no loss is wise.
Big gain no loss is luck
Small gain big loss is a foolery.
We have recourse to all these
Somewhere sometime impulsively.
16.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Let us weigh the gain and the loss in wagering that God is, but let us consider the two possibilities. If you gain, you gain all if you lose you lose nothing. Hesitate not, then, to wager that He is.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll never love Thee more
o
MY dear and only Love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be govern'd by no other sway
Than purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part
(Which virtuous souls abhor),
And hold a synod in thine heart,
I'll never love thee more.
Like Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
And in the empire of thine heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part
Or dare to vie with me,
Or if Committees thou erect,
And go on such a score,
I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.
But if thou wilt prove faithful then,
And constant of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen
And famous by my sword;
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before;
I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
And love thee more and more.
o
poem by James Graham
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Belief is a wise wager. Granted that faith cannot be proved, what harm will come to you if you gamble on its truth and it proves false? If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation, that He exists.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written For My Son
When Athens was for Arts and Arms renown'd,
Olympic Wreaths uncommon Merit crown'd.
These slight Distinctions from the Learn'd and Wise,
Convey'd eternal Honour with the Prize:
'Twas this, the gen'rous Love of Fame inspir'd,
And Grecian Breasts with noblest Ardor fir'd.
For like Rewards like Judges we implore:
Immortal Fame, with Grecian Arts, restore:
Our growing Merit with Indulgence view;
And sure you'll favour what distinguish'd you.
Leave Ignorance and Sloth to Scorn and Shame;
But crown the Worthy with immortal Fame;
And Fame, conferr'd by you, can never fail:
What Men have purchas'd, they of Right entail.
poem by Mary Barber
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Fortune's Statue
She's mistress of all:
Rule of this earth
To her is entrusted;
Fortune she's called.
But for her, Maia's son, whom
She grants gifts, be naught.
Man, living for gain,
Mars, fast to shed blood,
Stand both in her hand.
He fears her even
Whom Yenus enflames;
He praises her too,
Who lives by his toil,
In sweat and in thrift.
Kindly at her he'd look,
Who mocks her in word;
For wise deliberation,
Wishing, she'd turn to dispute.
Of a king, a pauper,
Of a slave, a king,
Should she will, she'd make.
She's heedless on whom
Her gifts she bestows,
In which no trust
Is she wont to keep.
So doth she sport!
Through inconstancy alone
She endures unchanging,
To wander hither and yon,
Ruling earth with no rules.
In this tho, she's less
Unto virtue persisting
Would she fast submit,
With it forever in strife.
poem by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
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To Edward Jenkinson, Esq
Fair Youth! who wish the Wars may cease,
We own you better form'd for Peace.
Nor Pallas you, nor Mars shou'd follow;
Your Gods are Cupid and Apollo;
Who give sweet Looks, and early Rhimes,
Bespeaking Joys, and Halcyon Times.
Your Face, which We, as yet, may praise,
Calls for the Myrtle, and the Bays.
The Martial Crowns Fatigues demand,
And laurell'd Heroes must be tann'd;
A Fate, we never can allow
Shou'd reach your pleasing, polish'd Brow.
But granting what so young you've writ,
From Nature flow'd, as well as Wit;
And that indeed you Peace pursue,
We must begin to Treat with you.
We Females, Sir, it is I mean:
Whilst I, like BRISTOL for the QUEEN,
For all the Ladies of your Age
As Plenipo' betimes engage;
And as first Article declare,
You shall be Faithful as you're Fair:
No Sighs, when you shall know their Use,
Shall be discharg'd in Love's Abuse;
Nor kindling Words shall undermine,
Till you in equal Passion join.
Nor Money be alone your Aim,
Tho' you an Over-weight may claim,
And fairly build on your Desert,
If with your Person goes your Heart.
But when this Barrier I have gain'd,
And trust it will be well maintain'd;
Who knows, but some imprudent She
Betraying what's secur'd by me,
Shall yield thro' Verse, or stronger Charms,
To Treat anew on easier Terms?
And I be negligently told–
You was too Young, and I too Old,
To have our distant Maxims hold.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Return of the forest
War …………………!
War …………………! !
War to the dwellers
Gain ………………….!
Gain ………………….! !
Gain from the vain of inheritance
tranquil and madly ready
Wasn’t a massacre.
War ………………..!
War: joint-sperm to replenish
On the soil of mute.
Gain ………………….!
Gain; they are exiled and wont return.
Lia, eldest honoured to keep the peace.
Egwe, youngest, Gloried to care.
War ……………..!
War ……………...! !
War, their peace troubled to escape.
War, ‘’Warri’’ destroyed and no one to cook with the fire
Slattered and prisioned tittles.
War ………………!
War ………………! !
War, Gain, gain, gain.
These enemies of pacifism
wait for no age,
dwellers of all land.
To claim, to reign and gain.
Little wheeze close to the prewinkle.
sneeze their repent.
poem by Ebi Robert
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We can gain no lasting peace if we approach it with suspicion and mistrust or with fear. We can gain it only if we proceed with the understanding, the confidence, and the courage which flow from conviction.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt in Fourth Inaugural Address (20 January 1945)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mars Bar
Oh, lord have mercy for the blessed Mars Bar!
I taste the nought and caramel in my mouth,
And it goes so far,
Just that one Mars Bar!
That Mars Bar can ease my troubles,
And leave me at peace,
For chocolate bars are both a blessing and a curse,
I can't choose which is worse,
Oh, heavenly Mars Bar!
And in the shop I look around,
And see other chocolate and candy bars,
Feeling so ravenous and famished,
Sometimes a galaxy bar will do,
But I always come back,
To the faithful Mars Bar!
The naughty ritual of the schoolgirl,
Pressured to diet,
Dreading the day she will be middle aged and fat,
Not to mention a housewife,
But times are changing,
Curvy is in,
For eating never was a sin,
Oh, wonderful Mars Bar!
I am older now,
But remember fondly those trips,
To the corner shop,
Feeling quietly delighted,
At the same time,
Oh, glorious Mars Bar!
poem by Paula Glynn
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Of the Death of Sir T.W. the Elder
Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.
A head where wisdom mysteries did frame,
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain
As on a stithy where that some work of fame
Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.
A visage stern and mild, where both did grow,
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice;
Amid great storms, whom grace assured so
To live upright and smile at fortune's choice.
A hand that taught what might be said in rhyme;
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit:
A mark, the which (unparfited, for time)
Some may approach, but never none shall hit.
A tongue that served in foreign realms his king;
Whose courteous talk to virtue did enflame
Each noble heart; a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth by travail unto fame.
An eye whose judgment none affect could blind,
Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile;
Whose piercing look did represent a mind
With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile.
A heart where dread was never so impress'd,
To hide the thought that might the truth advance;
In neither fortune loft, nor yet repress'd,
To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance.
A valiant corps, where force and beauty met;
Happy, alas, too happy, but for foes!
Lived, and ran the race, that Nature set:
Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose.
But to the heavens that simple soul is fled,
Which left with such as covet Christ to know
Witness of faith that never shall be dead,
Sent for our health, but not received so.
Thus, for our guilt, this jewel have we lost;
The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost.
poem by Henry Howard
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The Kingdom
Now we are come to our Kingdom,
And the State is thus and thus;
Our legions wait at the Palace gate—
Little it profits us.
Now we are come to our Kingdom!
Now we are come to our Kingdom,
And the Crown is ours to take—
With a naked sword at the Council board,
And under the throne the snake.
Now we are come to our Kingdom !
Now we are come to our Kingdom,
And the Realm is ours by right,
With shame and fear for our daily cheer,
And heaviness at night.
Now we are come to our Kingdom !
Now we are come to our Kingdom,
But my love's eyelids fall.
All that I wrought for, all that I fought for,
Delight her nothing at all.
My crown is of withered leaves,
For she sits in the dust and grieves.
Now we are come to our Kingdom !
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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In Imitation Of Anacreon
Let 'em Censure: what care I?
The Herd of Criticks I defie.
Let the Wretches know, I write
Regardless of their Grace, or Spight.
No, no: the Fair, the Gay, the Young
Govern the Numbers of my Song.
All that They approve is sweet:
And All is Sense, that They repeat.
Bid the warbling Nine retire:
Venus, String thy Servant's Lyre:
Love shall be my endless Theme:
Pleasure shall triumph over Fame:
And when these Maxims I decline,
Apollo, may Thy Fate be Mine:
May I grasp at empty Praise;
And lose the Nymph, to gain the Bays.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Couplets on Wit
I
But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone
And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne.
II
Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest
Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest.
III
Some who grow dull religious strait commence
And gain in morals what they lose in sence.
IV
Wits starve as useless to a Common weal
While Fools have places purely for their Zea.
V
Now wits gain praise by copying other wits
As one Hog lives on what another sh---.
VI
Wou'd you your writings to some Palates fit
Purged all you verses from the sin of wit
For authors now are so conceited grown
They praise no works but what are like their own.
poem by Alexander Pope
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Misanthrope
I hand myself these challenges
and if I win
I preen;
I hand myself these challenges
and if I lose
knowledge and experience I guess I gain;
I hand myself still greater challenges
and hope they don't
ending up educating me to death.
Surviving then
the worst of these,
if lucky,
I could be crippled for life
but end up very very wise.
You know actually
I'd rather skip
the educated, crippled and possibly dead part
and perhaps too
skip the my birth itself
and go straight to heaven in one piece
one day and still healthy,
where God and and I would discuss
the Joys and the Dreads of Earthly Life
in the presence of the angels
and delightful cherubic lads.
Thereby I would gain immortality
and never ever
have to get dead.
Humm..
All in all
I think
this idea is best in many ways.
But if you are reading this
you are already alive
the both of us having made our first mistake;
that of having been born
and probably depending on age
very very very wise.
Womb Returns and Pilgrimages
are clearly out of the question
and therefore I will have to
stop complaining
and make the best
of life here on earth;
weary simile on my face
and reconciled
to the wise joys
of this Earthly
Grand In-Between.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Sent As From A School--Fellow To My Son
I grieve to see you waste your Time,
And turn your Thoughts so much to Rhyme,
Be wise--your useless Views resign,
And fly the fair, delusive Nine.
I know, they try their wonted Art,
To win your easy, youthful Heart;
They talk of an immortal Name,
And promise you the Realms of Fame:
A mighty Empire, Con. 'tis true,
But wondrous small the Revenue!
They'll tell you too, to gain their Ends,
That Verse will raise you pow'rful Friends.
Believe me, Youth, this is not true:
The Great think ev'ry Thing their Due.
poem by Mary Barber
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Gold and Green
Gold and Green,
some choose gold
and some choose green.
You don't need to be wise,
to choose a wise decision,
just a matter of want.
Let inspiration and desire
decide your decisions
then may you have your dignity
when you listen and fallow.
I have seen the pure insanity,
again, I have seen many things
but I have seen enough
to know enough.
I have seen pure gold,
within the eyes of love
but I have seen too much,
its overwhelming.
Gold and green,
I have both,
one inside my heart
and one inside my pocket,
but I know enough
and I will empty my pocket.
I choose what I think is wise.
Even if being poor takes much away,
I gain more than green,
I gain Gold.
poem by Malory Joyce
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Licia Sonnets 40
My grief begun, fair saint, when first I saw
Love in those eyes sit ru]ing with disdain,
Whose sweet commands did keep a world in awe,
And caused them serve your favor to obtain.
I stood as one enchanted with a frown,
Yet smiled to see all creatures serve those eyes,
Where each with sighs paid tribute to that crown,
And thought them gracéd by your dumb rep]ies.
But I, ambitious, could not be content
Till that my service more than sighs made known;
And for that end my heart to you I sent
To say and swear that, fair, it is your own.
Then greater graces, Licia, do impart,
Not dumb replies unto a speaking heart.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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The Husband-Confessor
WHEN Francis (named the first) o'er Frenchmen reign'd,
In Italy young Arthur laurels gained,
And oft such daring valour showed in fight,
With ev'ry honour he was made a knight;
The monarch placed the spur upon his heel,
That all around his proper worth might feel.
Then household deities at home he sought,
Where--not at prayers his beauteous dame he caught:
He'd left her, truly, quite dissolv'd in tears;
But now the belle had bid adieu to fears;
And oft was dancing joyously around,
With all the company that could be found.
GALLANTS in crowds Sir Arthur soon perceived;
At sight of these the knight was sorely grieved;
And, turning in his mind how best to act;
Cried he, Can this be truly held a fact,
That I've been worthy while I'd fame in view,
Of cuckoldom at home, and knighthood too?
It ought to be but half:--the truth let's know;
From constancy the purest blessings flow.
Then like a father-confessor he dressed,
And took his seat where priests their flock confessed.
His lady absolution sought that day,
And on her knees before him 'gan to pray;
The minor sins were told with downcast eyes,
And then for hearing those of larger size,
The husband-confessor prepared his ears:--
Said she, Good father, ('mid a flood of tears),
My bed receives, (the fault I fear's not slight,)
A gentleman, a parson, and a knight.
Still more had followed, but, by rage o'ercome,
Sir Arthur cut the thread, and she was mum;
Though, doubtless, had the fair been let proceed,
Quite long her Litany had been decreed.
THe husband, in a rage, exclaimed, thou jade,
A parson, say'st thou? t'whom dost think thou'st made
This curst confession?--To my spouse, cried she,
I saw you enter here, and came with glee,
Supposing you'd a trick to raise surprise;
Howe'er 'tis strange that one so very wise,
The riddle should not fully comprehend:--
A KNIGHT, the king created you, my friend;
A GENTLEMAN, your rank was long ago;
A PARSON, you have made yourself you know.
Good heav'ns! exclaimed the knight, 'tis very clear,
And I a blockhead surely must appear
poem by La Fontaine
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No Pain, No Gain
With pain, you get no gain.
And with gain, you get no pain.
Im too young too know but a little too old too find out that the matter of the fact is..
Without pain, you just gain.
And without gain, you get tons of pain.
Lying is sorta the same.
You lie, well you dont get gain for that.
Just pain.
But if you dont lie, you gain without the pain.
People dont realize the difference between pain and gain.
But again, im too young to know, but a little too old to find out.
But im just young enough too find out that when I get older I will know the correct difference between, No Pain. No Gain.
poem by Heather Lynn
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