John Lydgate Quotes

For princis ofte, of furious hastynesse,
Wil cachche a quarrel, causeless in sentence,
Ageyn folk absent, thouh ther be non offence.

For love is mor than gold or gret richesse;
Gold faileth ofte; love wol abyde.

For he owre englishe gilte with his sawes,
Rude and boistous firste be olde dawes,
That was ful fer from al perfeccioun
And but of litel reputacioun
Til that he cam, and thorugh his poetrie,
Gan oure tonge firste to magnifie
And adourne it with his eloquence:
To whom honour, laude and reuerence.

Woord is but wynd; leff woord and tak the dede.

A wikked tonge wol alway deme amis.

For a story which is nat pleynli told,
But constreynyd undir woordes fewe
For lak off trouthe, wher thei be newe or olde,
Men bi report kan nat the mater shewe.

Comparable with Chawcer, yet more occupyed in supersticious and odde matters than was requesite in so good a wytte.

There is no rose
Spryngyng in gardeyns, but ther be sum thorn.

A voluminous, prosaick, and drivelling Monk.

Trouthe wil out maugre of fals enuye,
Rihtwysnesse may nat ben hid certeyn,
As for a tyme it may been ovirleyn.

Odyous of olde been comparisonis.

All is not golde that outward shewith bright.

In images of horror, and in a certain terrible greatness, our author comes far behind Chaucer. Whether they were not suited to the genius or the temper of Lydgate, I do not determine; but it is certain that, though they naturally seemed to present themselves, he has almost generally chose to avoid them: yet is there frequently a stiller kind of majesty both in his thought and expression, which makes one of his principal beauties.

Off oure language he was the lodesterre.

Who lesethe his fredam, in faith! he loseth all.