Quotes about fickle, page 3
Ah, Silly Pug, Wert Thou So Sore Afraid
Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid?
Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed.
It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill
To force my heart to think thee any ill.
No Fortune base, thou sayest, shall alter thee?
And may so blind a witch so conquer me?
No, no, my Pug, though Fortune were not blind,
Assure thyself she could not rule my mind.
Fortune, I know, sometimes doth conquer kings,
And rules and reigns on earth and earthly things,
But never think Fortune can bear the sway
If virtue watch, and will her not obey.
Ne chose I thee by fickle Fortune’s rede,
Ne she shall force me alter with such speed
But if to try this mistress’ jest with thee.
Pull up thy heart, suppress thy brackish tears,
Torment thee not, but put away thy fears.
Dead to all joys and living unto woe,
Slain quite by her that ne’er gave wise men blow,
Revive again and live without all dread,
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poem by Queen Elizabeth I
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Ice Chest and Beef
Solitude comes on quickly
heart stops and breath is stolen
my spirit has vanished.
Past promises fade into distant echos
only to be relived in my awaken nightmares
long lost love left late
Fresh wounds scream the incredible
pain mixes with emptiness breeds anger
where is my right arm?
Sound is like liquid now
slow dull roars from the non-understanding
I've read this story before
but this ending is unfamiliar.
The simpler it is the more complex the question
should I hold you accountable for my heart
while you want no accountability for our love?
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poem by Todd Jones
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Choice
Predatory male knows what
he wants upon finding desire.
As a woman knows
lamp lit face of hunger.
Desires of fickle flesh
are easily provoked.
Satisfied by first form
appeasing pleasing to eye.
Walk night washed roads
towards sealed red lit abodes.
But stage show holds no glitter
feel downtrodden human litter.
Whores paid for palm has no pleasure.
Meaningful soul embracing answer.
Still lost in mirage mirror reflection.
Shows nothing of blazing source conception.
Love absorbs mind
as well as subservient body.
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Lifes An Ocean
Lifes an ocean
Lifes an ocean
Too much commotion, too much emotion
Too much commotion, too much emotion
Dragging me down
Dragging me down
Living for today, dont have time to pray
Living for today, dont have time to pray
Ready for the game
Ready for the game
Take a line of fickle flame
Take a line of fickle flame
Imagine the future
Woke up with a scream
Imagine the future
I was buying some feelings
Woke up with a scream
From a vending machine
I was buying some feelings
Say that I will see
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song performed by Verve
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Lifes An Ocean
Lifes an ocean
Lifes an ocean
Too much commotion, too much emotion
Too much commotion, too much emotion
Dragging me down
Dragging me down
Living for today, dont have time to pray
Living for today, dont have time to pray
Ready for the game
Ready for the game
Take a line of fickle flame
Take a line of fickle flame
Imagine the future
Woke up with a scream
Imagine the future
I was buying some feelings
Woke up with a scream
From a vending machine
I was buying some feelings
Say that I will see
[...] Read more
song performed by Verve
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Once In Love With Amy
I caught you sir
Having a look at her
As she went strolling by
Now didn't your heart go
Boom,boom,boom,boom,boom
And didn't you sigh a sigh
I warned you sir
Never to dream of her
Just bid such thoughs begone
Or it'll be
Boom,boom,boom,boom,boom,boom,boom
Boom,boom,boom,boom
From then on
For once in love with Amy
Always in love with Amy
Ever and ever fasinated by her
Sets your heart a fire to stay
Once you're kissed by Amy
Tear up your list it's Amy
Ply her with bon-bons, poetry,and flowers
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song performed by Barry Manilow
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The Fan : A Poem. Book I.
I sing that graceful toy, whose waving play,
With gentle gales relieves the sultry day.
Not the wide fan by Persian dames display'd,
Which o'er their beauty casts a grateful shade;
Nor that long known in China's artful land,
Which, while it cools the face, fatigues the hand;
Nor shall the muse in Asian climates rove,
To seek in Indostan some spicy grove,
Where stretch'd at ease the panting lady lies,
To shun the fervour of meridian skies,
While sweating slaves catch every breeze of air,
And with wide-spreading fans refresh the fair;
No busy gnats her pleasing dreams molest,
Inflame her cheek, or ravage o'er her breast,
But artificial zephyrs round her fly,
And mitigate the fever of the sky.
Nor shall Bermudas long the muse detain,
Whose fragrant forests bloom in Waller's strain,
Where breathing sweets from every field ascend,
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poem by John Gay
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Bristowe Tragedie: Or The Dethe Of Syr Charles Badwin
THE featherd songster chaunticleer
Han wounde hys bugle horne,
And tolde the earlie villager
The commynge of the morne.
Kynge EDWARDE sawe the ruddie streakes
Of lyghte eclypse the greie;
And herde the raven's crokynge throte
Proclayme the fated daie.
'Thou'rt ryght,' quod hee, 'for, by the Godde
That syttes enthron'd on hyghe!
CHARLES BAWDIN, and hys fellowes twain,
To-daie shall surelie die.
Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale
Hys Knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite;
'Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie
'Hee leaves thys mortall state.'
Syr CANTERLONE thenne bendedd low;
Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe;
Hee journey'd to the castle-gate,
And to Syr CHARLES dydd goe.
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poem by Thomas Chatterton
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The Minstrel; Or, The Progress Of Genius : Book I.
I.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Hath felt the influence of malignant star,
And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war!
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
And Poverty's unconquerable bar,
In life's low vale remote hath pin'd alone
Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!
II.
And yet, the languor of inglorious days
Not equally oppressive is to all.
Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,
The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.
There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,
Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of Fame;
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall
Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim
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poem by James Beattie
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The Minstrel ; Or, The Progress Of Genius - Book II.
I.
Of chance or change O let not man complain,
Else shall he never never cease to wail:
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,
All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale;
Art, empire, earth itself to change are doom'd;
Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale,
And gulphs the mountain's mighty mass entomb'd,
And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloom'd.
II.
But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Nor search the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of time and change,
Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
Yet at the darken'd eye, the wither'd face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine:
But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,
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poem by James Beattie
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