Samuel Daniel (1562 – 14 October 1619) was an English poet and historian.
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.
Pow'r above pow'rs! O heavenly eloquence! That with the strong rein of commanding words, Dost manage, guide, and master th' eminence Of men's affections, more than all their swords!
Man is a creature of a willful head, And hardly driven is, but eas'ly led.
Custom, that is before all law; Nature, that is above all art.
We come to know best what men are, in their worse jeopardizes.
The stars that have most glory have no rest.
Flattery, the dangerous nurse of vice.
And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain of our best glories shall be sent, 't unknowing Nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident may come refined with the accents that are ours?
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born; Relive my languish, and restore the light.
When better cherries are not to be had, We needs must take the seeming best of bad.
Sacred religion! mother of form and fear.
But years hath done this wrong, To make me write too much, and live too long.
The greatest works of admiration, And all the fair examples of renown. Out of distress and misery are grown.
Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon tender green, Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show And straight is gone, as it had never been.
This is that rest this vain world lends, To end in death that all things ends.
The wise are above books.
Th aspirer, once attaind unto the top, Cuts off those means by which himself got up.