15th-century Poet Quotes

Ludovico Ariosto

Babur

Charles, Duke of Orléans

James I of Scotland

Jacopo Sannazaro

Gavin Douglas

Ikkyū

Man is only miserable so far as he thinks himself so.

Jacopo Sannazaro

My own soul is my most faithful friend. My own heart, my truest confidant.

What dreamest thou, drunkard, drowsy pate?
Thy lust and liking is from thee gone;
Thou blinkard blowboll, thou wakest too late.

Through wind, hail or frost my living's made.
I am a lecher, and she's a lecher with me.
Which one of us is better? We're both alike:
The one as worthy as the other. Bad rat, bad cat.
We both love filth, and filth pursues us;
We flee from honor, honor flees from us,
In this brothel where we ply our trade.

François Villon

But that he wrought so high the specious tale,
As manifested plainly 'twas a lie.

Ludovico Ariosto

On ilk beugh till embrace Writtin in a bill was O Dowglass, O Dowglass Tender and trewe!

Richard Holland

Naught else but empty shadows are our dreams,
Reflected from the day's imaginings.

Giovanni Rucellai

Louers be war and tak gude heid about Quhome that ye lufe, for quhome ye suffer paine. I lat yow wit, thair is richt few thairout Quhome ye may traist to haue trew lufe agane.

Robert Henryson

Yet will the loved one's gentle smile suffice
To ope the door of Paradise,
And turn to joy our dark and cruel lot.

Francesco Maria Molza

It has the original mouth but remains wordless;
It is surrounded by a magnificent mound of hair.
Sentient beings can get completely lost in it
But it is also the birthplace of all the Buddhas of the ten thousand worlds.

I am dying of thirst by the side of the fountain.

Charles, Duke of Orléans

And therewith kest I doun myn eye ageyne,
Quhare as I sawe, walking under the tour,
Full secretly new cummyn hir to pleyne,
The fairest or the freschest yonge floure
That ever I sawe, me thoght, before that houre,
For quhich sodayn abate anon astert
The blude of all my body to my hert.

James I of Scotland

It is richt facil and eith gait, I the tell,
Forto discend and pas on down to hell:
The blak gettis of Pluto, and that dirk way,
Standis evir oppin and patent nycht and day;
Bot tharfra to return agane on hyght,
And heir abufe recovir this aris licht,
That is difficil wark, thar lawbour lyis.

That nicht he sleipit never ane wink,
Bot still did on the Ladie think.

For though the day be never so long,
At last the bells ringeth to evensong.

Someone might object, "But you do not express yourself like Cicero". What of it? I am not Cicero. But I think I express my own self.