Thou Gaudy Idle World Adieu
Thou Gaudy Idle world adieu,
& all thy tinsell Joys;
I lovd thee dearly once tis true,
But since a better choice I knew,
Ive made that better choice.
My wishes mount above the sky
Upon the wings of faith,
My soul shall follow when I dy,
For much I doubt if bodys fly,
What ever Asgill saith.
All things are fickle here below,
How ere above they be,
& If I had not left thee now,
Thy pleasures had left me.
Count but the changes Memory
Which your short time has known,
This is the third King which you see
Upon the English throne.
The Irish who by Williams reign
Were run so much aground,
Do by the Trust (confound it) Gain
three hundred thousand pound.
& My acquaintance wonder not
When you my change discover
Ev'n Methwin has a prayr book bought
'Gainst Rochester comes over.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Related quotes
Love
1 Canst thou love me, lady?
2 I've not learn'd to woo:
3 Thou art on the shady
4 Side of sixty too.
5 Still I love thee dearly!
6 Thou hast lands and pelf:
7 But I love thee merely
8 Merely for thyself.
9 Wilt thou love me, fairest?
10 Though thou art not fair;
11 And I think thou wearest
12 Someone-else's hair.
13 Thou could'st love, though, dearly:
14 And, as I am told,
15 Thou art very nearly
16 Worth thy weight, in gold.
17 Dost thou love me, sweet love?
18 Tell me that thou dost!
19 Women fairly beat one,
20 But I think thou must.
21 Thou art loved so dearly:
22 I am plain, but then
23 Thou (to speak sincerely)
24 Art as plain again.
25 Love me, bashful fairy!
26 I've an empty purse:
27 And I've 'moods,' which vary;
28 Mostly for the worse.
29 Still, I love thee dearly:
30 Though I make (I feel)
31 Love a little queerly,
32 I'm as true as steel.
33 Love me, swear to love me
34 (As, you know, they do)
35 By yon heaven above me
36 And its changeless blue.
37 Love me, lady, dearly,
38 If you'll be so good;
39 Though I don't see clearly
40 On what ground you should.
41 Love me -- ah or love me
42 Not, but be my bride!
43 Do not simply shove me
44 (So to speak) aside!
45 P'raps it would be dearly
46 Purchased at the price;
47 But a hundred yearly
48 Would be very nice.
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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One Choice
Theres only one reason left for me to stay
But you wont like the reason why
Tried so many times to get through the two of you
But you dont even want to try
Times are hard and people need all they have got
Look around and see whats left today
Aint so easy making it on your own
What more do I need to say
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Never knew a good thing
Till it moved away
Now its too late to turn it back
Youd buy the world if it would make me stay
Listen now to what I have to say
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Sitting here thinking
But nothing seems to change
And I cant stand it anymore
Theres always someone trying to pull you down
Do you really want this constant war
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Choice
Theres only one reason left for me to stay
But you wont like the reason why
Tried so many times to get through the two of you
But you dont even want to try
Times are hard and people need all they have got
Look around and see whats left today
Aint so easy making it on your own
What more do I need to say
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Never knew a good thing
Till it moved away
Now its too late to turn it back
Youd buy the world if it would make me stay
Listen now to what I have to say
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Sitting here thinking
But nothing seems to change
And I cant stand it anymore
Theres always someone trying to pull you down
Do you really want this constant war
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
Theres only one choice to be made
And I cant help it
If you take the wrong way
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Have No Choice
A choice is your dream off wings.
It was never there.
Your choice has a shadow of your ego
It can never follow you.
We have no choice at all
Your choice is just a compromise.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Choice of life
Human have a gift named a choice
Human have an illusion named a choice
There is no other creature that should decide more to live
Human have a hope called a choice
Human have despair called a choice
There is no other creature that trapped often in such continuous and repeat conflict
Some could turn good because one choice
Some could turn bad because one choice
All have the consequence but right or wrong will never be known before
Human have a wish for a choice
Human have regret for a choice
There is no other creature that always goes between happiness and sorrow
When a choice made not all may be satisfied
When a choice made not all may be rescued
But the change will never happened if we stay silent
Human have fate to choose
Human also choose their fate
The interaction of those things will create what people called the choice of life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Farewell To Malta
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!
Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat!
Adieu, thou palace rarely enter'd!
Adieu, ye mansions where I've ventured!
Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs!
(How surely he who mounts you swears!)
Adieu, ye merchants often failing!
Adieu, thou mob for ever railing!
Adieu, ye packets without letters!
Adieu, ye fools who ape your betters!
Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,
That gave me fever, and the spleen!
Adieu, that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,
Adieu, his Excellency's dancers!
Adieu to Peter--whom no fault's in,
But could not teach a colonel waltzing;
Adieu, ye females fraught with graces!
Adieu, red coats, and redder faces!
Adieu, the supercilious air
Of all that strut 'en militaire'!
I go--but God knows when, or why,
To smoky towns and cloudy sky,
To things (the honest truth to say)
As bad--but in a different way.
Farewell to these, but not adieu,
Triumphant sons of truest blue!
While either Adriatic shore,
And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more,
And nightly smiles, and daily dinners,
Proclaim you war and woman's winners.
Pardon my Muse, who apt to prate is,
And take my rhyme--because 'tis 'gratis.'
And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,
Perhaps you think I mean to praise her
And were I vain enough to think
My praise was worth this drop of ink,
A line--or two--were no hard matter,
As here, indeed, I need not flatter:
But she must be content to shine
In better praises than in mine,
With lively air, and open heart,
And fashion's ease, without its art;
Her hours can gaily glide along,
Nor ask the aid of idle song.
And now, O Malta! since thou'st got us,
Thou little military hothouse!
I'll not offend with words uncivil,
And wish thee rudely at the Devil,
But only stare from out my casement,
And ask, for what is such a place meant?
Then, in my solitary nook,
Return to scribbling, or a book,
Or take my physic while I'm able
(Two spoonfuls hourly by the label),
Prefer my nightcap to my beaver,
And bless the gods I've got a fever.
May 26, 1811.
There is a Tavern in the Town
There is a tavern in the town, in the town,
And there my true love sits him down, sits him down,
And drinks his wine 'mid laughter free,
And never, never thinks of me.
Fare thee well, for I must leave thee,
Do not let this parting grieve thee,
And remember that the best of friends must part, must part.
Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu!
I can no longer stay with you, stay with you,
I'll hang my harp on a weeping willow tree,
And may the world go well with thee.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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To An Inconstant Mistress
I loved thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief as is the blame,
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unloved again
Hath better store of love than brain;
God send me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away.
Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
If thou hadst still continued mine;
Nay, if thou hadst remained thine own,
I might perchance have yet been thine.
But thou thy freedom did recall,
That it thou might elsewhere enthrall,
And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain?
When new desires had conquered thee,
And changed the object of thy will,
It had been lethargy in me,
Not constancy, to love thee still;
Yea, it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so,
Since we are taught no prayers to say
To such as must to others pray.
Yet do thou glory in thy choice,
Thy choice of his good fortune boast;
I'll neither grieve, nor yet rejoice
To see him gain what I have lost.
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee still, but go no more
A-begging at a beggar's door.
poem by Sir Robert Aytoun
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My God, I Thank Thee who Hast Made
My God, I thank Thee who hast made
The earth so bright;
So full of splendour and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!
I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made
Joy to abound;
So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us round,
That in the darkest spot of earth
Some love is found.
I thank Thee more that all our joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours;
So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.
For Thou, who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,
Hath given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings;
So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things.
I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store:
We have enough, yet not too much
To long for more;
A yearning for a deeper peace,
Not known before.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
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I'd made my choice
What the hell is it with you?
I had made my choice to go.
And once again you saved me.
I wanted to die.
To bring a means to an end.
I just want to die.
Why can't you see its for the best?
Just let me go.
If I am dead.
You will no longer be burdened.
I've now made my choice.
I am about to try again soon.
If you should find me,
Don't save let me go.
For this is the choice I have made.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Bid Adieu to Maidenhood
Bid adieu, adieu, adieu,
Bid adieu to girlish days,
Happy Love is come to woo
Thee and woo thy girlish ways—
The zone that doth become thee fair,
The snood upon thy yellow hair,
When thou hast heard his name upon
The bugles of the cherubim
Begin thou softly to unzone
Thy girlish bosom unto him
And softly to undo the snood
That is the sign of maidenhood.
poem by James Joyce
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This Budget reflects a choice - not an easy choice, but the right choice. And when you think about it, the only choice. The choice to take the responsible, prudent path to fiscal stability, economic growth and opportunity.
quote by George E. Pataki
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: On Calumny
Be thou a saint and yet the world won't spare;
Be thou most chaste and yet, most tongues will talk;
Be thou a crook and yet people don't care;
Be thou a tiger yet, some men will stalk.
Be thou cruel and yet the world will praise;
Be thou too kind and yet the world will taunt;
Be thou rigid and yet the world can't face;
Be thou timid and yet the world will haunt;
Be thou selfish and yet the world loves thee;
Be thou selfless and yet the world thee hates;
Be thou goodly and yet you are not free;
Be thou evil and yet the world thee mates.
Be thou yourself and yet the world finds fault;
Be thou anything, yet the world will vault.
poem by John Celes
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While I am the one who made the choice to enter the ministry, there was a choice before that one, the choice God made in calling me to be his in the first place.
quote by James Green Somerville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pride
God said all you angels will now bow down
In reverence to my most choicely deed.
Man is of my image, gather around
Bestow on him your praise. Who’d take the lead?
'Not I, said Lucifer. I shall not bow
To one subordinate and made of clay.
I am of fire with high esteem, and thou
Are now charging me? I will not obey.'
I command you again, do this for me.
I love you dearly but you must abide
My wishes. Adam’s of me I decree.
Thou are obsessed with your pretentious pride
Thou arrogance and haughtiness compel
Me to cast thee from heaven into Hell.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Refuse To Be The One With That Title
Picking with an esteem,
A choice not to be one idle.
And not one to be guided by...
A looking with eyes from side to side.
Picking with an esteem,
A choice not to be one idle.
And not one to be guided by...
A looking with eyes from side to side.
Looking ahead and keeping one's faith,
With a hold that shows one bridled.
Are the ones who never wait too late...
Until time from them has escaped.
Picking with an esteem,
A choice not to be idle.
And not one to be guided by...
A looking with eyes from side to side.
Picking with an esteem,
A choice not to be...idle.
And not one to be guided by...
A looking with eyes from side to side.
Procrastinators are the ones to make mistakes.
And found to be...idle.
As they watch time from them fly right by...
While trying to catch up with slow strides.
Picking with an esteem,
A choice not to be one idle.
And not one to be guided by...
A looking with eyes from side to side.
Picking with an esteem,
A choice not to be...idle.
And not one to be guided by...
A looking with eyes from side to side.
Procrastinators are the ones to make mistakes.
And found to be those idle.
While trying to catch up with slow strides,
As they watch time from them fly right by.
Don't procrastinate and find it's much too late.
Refuse to be the one left idle.
Don't procrastinate and find it's much too late.
Refuse to be the one left idle.
Don't procrastinate and find it's much too late.
Refuse to be the one left idle.
Refuse to be the one left idle.
And...
Don't procrastinate,
To find it's much too late.
Refuse to be the one...
With that title.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To The True Patroness of all Poetry, Calliope
It is a statute in deep wisdom's lore,
That for his lines none should a patron chuse
By wealth and poverty, by less or more,
But who the same is able to peruse:
Nor ought a man his labour dedicate,
Without a true and sensible desert,
To any power of such a mighty state
But such a wise defendress as thou art
Thou great and powerful Muse, then pardon me
That I presume thy maiden cheek to stain
In dedicating such a work to thee,
Sprung from the issue of an idle brain:
I use thee as a woman ought to be,
I consecrate my idle hours to thee.
poem by Francis Beaumont
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Life is maze
Life path is made of a net work;
One makes a choice at each fork.
Forks are frequent; so are choices.
Some are vital, some trivial.
Choices are made impulsively;
Choices are made instantly;
Choices are made by habit,
Experience, knowledge and faith.
Between pain and pleasure,
Between hedonism and virtues
And between power and possession,
Everyone’s life oscillates.
It is nothing but a sea saw.
Not every choice would click,
However best it appeared.
Your progress is not sure.
Life is maze not made by you.
The success and the failure
Are incidental and accidental.
No choice other than making choice.
13.12.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To the true patronesse of all Poetrie,
IT is a statute in deepe wisdomes lore,
That for his lines none should a patro[n] chuse
By wealth or pouerty, by lesse or more,
But who the same is able to peruse;
Nor ought a man his labours dedicate,
Without a true and sensible desert,
To any power of such a mighty state,
And such a wise Defendresse as thou art.
Thou great and powerfull Muse, then pardon mee,
That I presume the Mayden-cheeke to stayne,
In dedicating such a work to thee,
Sprung from the issue of an idle brayne.
I vse thee as a woman ought to be:
I consecrate my idle howres to thee.
poem by Francis Beaumont
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Verses Wrote on Her Death-Bed at Bath, to Her Husband in London
Thou, who dost all my worldly thoughts employ,
Thou pleasing source of all my earthly joy:
Thou tend'rest husband, and thou best of friends,
To thee this first, this last adieu I send.
At length the conqu'ror death asserts his right,
And will for ever veil me from thy sight.
He wooes me to him with a chearful grace;
And not one terror clouds his meagre face.
He promises a lasting rest from pain;
And shews that all life's fleeting joys are vain.
Th' eternal scenes of heav'n he sets in view,
And tells me that no other joys are true.
But love, fond love, would yet resist his pow'r;
Would fain awhile defer the parting hour:
He brings thy mourning image to my eyes,
And would obstruct my journey to the skies.
But say, thou dearest, thou unwearied friend;
Say, should'st thou grieve to see my sorrows end?
Thou know'st a painful pilgrimage I've past ;
And should'st thou grieve that rest is come at last?
Rather rejoice to see me shake off life,
And die as I have liv'd, thy faithful wife.
poem by Mary Monck
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