Robert Greene

Though men determine, the gods doo dispose: and oft times many
things fall out betweene the cup and the read more

Though men determine, the gods doo dispose: and oft times many
things fall out betweene the cup and the lip.

Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow,
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall!
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Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow,
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall!
Gloomy was Heaven; bright Phoebus did avow
He would be coy, and would not love at all;
Swearing no greater mischief could be wrought,
Than love united to a jealous thought.

He kept no Christmas-house for once a yeere,
Each day his boards were fild with Lordly fare;
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He kept no Christmas-house for once a yeere,
Each day his boards were fild with Lordly fare;
He fed a rout of yeoman with his cheer,
Nor was his bread and beefe kept in with care;
His wine and beere to strangers were not spare,
And yet beside to all that hunger greved,
His gates were open, and they were there relived.

Set a beggar on horse backe, they saie, and hee will neuer
alight.

Set a beggar on horse backe, they saie, and hee will neuer
alight.

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet read more

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown;
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.