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Thomas Nashe

(1567-1601 / England)

Quotations

  • ''Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure;
    Gone is our sport, fled is poor Croydon's pleasure.
    Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace,
    Ah! who shall hide us from the winter's face?
    Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease,
    And here we lie, God knows, with little ease.
    From winter, plague, and pestilence, good Lord, deliver us!''
    Thomas Nashe (1567-1601), British poet. Autumn (l. 1-7). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.) From SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.
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  • ''Beauty is but a flower,
    Which wrinkles will devour;
    Brightness falls from the air;
    Queens have died young and fair;
    Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
    I am sick, I must die.''
    Thomas Nashe (1567-1601), British poet. In Time of Pestilence (l. 15-20). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.) From SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.
  • ''Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king;
    Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
    Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
    "Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!"''
    Thomas Nashe (1567-1601), British poet. Spring (l. 1-4). . . Oxford Anthology of English Literature, The, Vols. I-II. Frank Kermode and John Hollander, general eds. (1973) Oxford University Press (Also published as six paperback vols.: Medieval English Literature, J. B. Trapp, ed.; The Literature of Renaissance England, John Hollander and Frank Kermode, eds.; The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century, Martin Price, ed.; Romantic Poetry and Prose, Harold Bloom and Lionel Trilling, eds.; Victorian Prose and Poetry, Lionel Trilling and Harold Bloom, eds.; Modern British Literature, Frank Kermode and John Hollander, eds.) From SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.

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In Time of Pestilence

ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss!
This world uncertain is:
Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die--
   Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,

[Hata Bildir]