Robert Greene (probably baptised July 11, 1558, died September 3, 1592) was an English poet, dramatist, romance-writer and pamphleteer.
Born: July 11th, 1558
Died: 1592
Categories: English poets, English playwrights, English novelists, 16th century deaths
Quotes: 10 sourced quotes total
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| Words (count) | 34 | 8 - 58 |
| Search Results | 28 | 10 - 130 |
There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown.
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee.
Ah Franion, treason is loved of many, but the Traitor hated of all: unjust offences may for a time escape without danger, but never without revenge.
Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king; And sweeter too, For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, And cares can make the sweetest love to frown; Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?
Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Then were my hopes greater than my despair, Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.
Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows; Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd bower. Yet, were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn.
Like to Diana in her summer-weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela; Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed When wash'd by Arethusa Fount they lie, Is fair Samela.
Deceiving world, that with alluring toys Hast made my life the subject of thy scorn, And scornest now to lend thy fading joys, T'outlength my life, whom friends have left forlorn; How well are they that die ere they be born, And never see thy sleights, which few men shun Till unawares they helpless are undone!