A Quote by Edmund Spenser

The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded. — © Edmund Spenser
The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.
Blessed the man that hath visited `Akká, and blessed he that hath visited the visitor of `Akká. Blessed the one that hath drunk from the Spring of the Cow and washed in its waters, for the black-eyed damsels quaff the camphor in Paradise, which hath come from the Spring of the Cow, and from the Spring of Salvan (Siloam), and the Well of Zamzam. Well is it with him that hath drunk from these springs, and washed in their waters, for God hath forbidden the fire of hell to touch him and his body on the Day of Resurrection.
Let us look upon a crucified Christ, the remedy of all our miseries. His cross hath procured a crown, his passion hath expiated our transgression. His death hath disarmed the law, his blood hath washed a believer's soul. This death is the destruction of our enemies, the spring of our happiness, and the eternal testimony of divine love.
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, But four times he who gets his blow in fust
Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just.
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
He that hath a trade hath an estate; and he that hath a calling hath a place of profit and honor. A ploughman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees.
And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat. Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on.
I'm the messenger. I'm just really the messenger. Although I've been a very good messenger, let's face it, right? I've been a pretty good messenger.
The last trumpet ever to be sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck.
The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down.
Be merry all, be merry all, With holly dress the festive hall; Prepare the song, the feast, the ball, To welcome merry Christmas.
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing.
O merry, merry, merry, like only dogs know how to be happy and nothing more, with an absolute shameless nature.
When the messenger arrives and says 'Don't shoot the messenger,' it's a good idea to be prepared to shoot the messenger, just in case.
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