Top 15 John Lydgate Quotes

English monk and poet (c.1370–c.1451)

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John Lydgate (c. 1370–c. 1451) was an English poet and translator. He is considered one of the leading English poets of the 15th century, and in his own day was often ranked alongside his master, Geoffrey Chaucer.

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Alternative Names: John Lydgate of Bury

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A voluminous, prosaick, and drivelling Monk.

He is the first of our writers whose style is cloathed with that perspicuity, in which the English phraseology appears at this day to an English reader…Whether his subject be the life of a hermit or a hero, of saint Austin or Guy earl of Warwick, ludicrous or legendary, religious or romantic, a history or an allegory, he writes with facility.

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.

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

Also Johnn Lydgate
Wryteth after an hyer rate;
It is dyffuse to fynde
The sentence of his mynde,
Yet wryteth he in his kynd,
No man that can amend
Those maters that he hath pende;
Yet some men fynde a faute,
And say he wryteth too haute.

The wheel of Fortune tourneth as a ball;
Sodeyn clymbyng axeth a sodeyn fall.

He as a kyng is crowned in Fairie,
With sceptre and suerd, & with his regalie
Shal resorte as lord and souereyne,
Out of Fairye & regne in Breteyne,
And repaire ageyn the Rounde Table.

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

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

Off oure language he was the lodesterre.

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.

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

Harde to likke hony out of a marbil stoon,
For ther is nouthir licour nor moisture.

Odyous of olde been comparisonis.

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.