William Drummond of Hawthornden quotes

William Drummond of Hawthornden was a Scottish poet and writer noted for his refined sonnets and lyrical poetry. His works reflect the influence of English and European literary traditions of the Renaissance. He is recognized as an important figure in early Scottish literature and a master of elegant verse. Here are 13 of his quotes:

God never had a church but there, men say, The Devil a chapel hath raised by some wyles. I doubted of this saw, till on a day I westward spied great Edinburgh's Saint Gyles.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

Of this fair volume which we World do name If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, We clear might read the art and wisdom rare.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

Here is the pleasant place, And nothing wanted is, save She, alas!

William Drummond of Hawthornden

This is the morn should bring unto this grove My love, to hear and recompense my love.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

Phœbus, arise! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move? Is this the justice which on Earth we find? Is this that firm decree which all doth bind? Are these your influences, Powers above?

William Drummond of Hawthornden

Make an eternal spring; Give life to this dark world which lieth dead. Spread forth thy golden hair In larger locks than thou wast wont before, And emperor-like decore With diadem of pearl thy temples fair.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

My thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise: - But he, grim-grinning King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.

William Drummond of Hawthornden

For what doth serve all that this world contains, Sith she for whom those once to me were dear, No part of them can have now with me here?

William Drummond of Hawthornden

What doth it serve to see sun's burning face, And skies enamelled with both the Indies' gold?

William Drummond of Hawthornden