Quotes from Thomas Campion

All our pride is but a jest. None are worst and none are best. Grief and hope and joy and fear Play their pageant everywhere.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

There is a garden in her eyes, where roses and white lilies flow.

From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.

Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly; To every day we live, a day we die.

Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers. From their own Music when they stray.

Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine... The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.

Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine.

Thou shalt prove That beauty is no beauty without love.

Beauty is not beauty without love.

If all would lead their lives in love like me, Then bloody swords and armor should not be; No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, Unless alarm came from the camp of love.

Fortune, honour, beauty, youth, Are but blossoms dying; Wanton pleasures, doting love, Are but shadows flying.

Never love unless you can bear with all the faults of man!

Now winter nights enlarge The number of their hours; And clouds their storms discharge Upon the airy towers...

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,Though thou be black as night,And she made all of light,Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.

Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine....

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore,Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more,Than my weary sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast!O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest.

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love,And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do diveInto their west, and straight again revive,But soon as once set is our little light,Then must we sleep one ever-during night.

Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,Of masks and revels which sweet youth did make.

Rose-cheeked Laura, come;Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty'sSilent music, either otherSweetly gracing.

There is a garden in her faceWhere roses and white lilies grow;A heavenly paradise is that placeWherein all pleasant fruits do flow.There cherries grow which none may buy,Till "cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair;Then thrice three times tie up this true love's knot,And murmur soft: "She will, or she will not."

The summer hath his joys,And winter his delights;Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,They shorten tedious nights.

Never love unless you can Bear with all the faults of man: Men will sometimes jealous be, Though but little cause they see.