Contents
-BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.
Edmund Spenser
Bitter as fell.Her brest like to a bowl of creame uncurdded.Bright as doth the morning starre appeare.Bright, like twinckling starres.Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded.Great cheare, like one unto a banquit bid.Cleare as the skye withouten blame or blot.Creeping close as snakes in hidden weeds.Diffused … like scatt’red chaffe, the which the wind away doth fan.Disorderly,
Like to a rancke of piles that pitched are awry.Drooping like honny dew.Drizling like deawy rayne.Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright.Fade like to a flowre that feeles no heate of sunne.Faire as Phœbus sunne.Fierce as hauke in flight.Her Eies did flash out fiery light,
Like coles that through a silver censer sparkle bright.Flew at him like an hellish fiend.Flew like a wyld gote.Fly, like scattered sheepe.Flew away as lightly as the wind.Flying fast as roebucke through the fen.Fresh as flower of May.Fresh as flowers in medow greene doe grow.Fresh as morning rose.Frowned like Good Friday.As full of wisdom as a cheese of mites.Gaped, like the griesly mouth of hell.Innocent as milk.Languish as the leafe faln from the tree.In silver slumber lay,
Like the evening starre adorn’d with dewy ray.Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant spring.Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte.Lowd as larke in ayre.Her snowie neck lyke to a marble towre.Quenched like a consumed torch.Red did show like roses in a bed of lillies shed.Sad death, revived with her sweet inspection,
And feeble spirit inly felt reflection;
As withered weed through cruell winter’s tine,
That feels the warmth of sunny beams reflection,
Liftes up his head that did before decline,
And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.Ran,
Like scatt’red chaffe, the which the wind away doth fan.Sad as a lump of lead.Shyne as brightest skye.Shone as heaven’s light.Shined far away, like glancing light of Phœbus’ brightest ray.Like an old oke, whose pith and sap is seare,
At puffe of every storm doth stagger.Still as any stake.Swift as any bucke in chace.More swift than Myrrh’ or Daphne in her race.Swift as the headlong torrents of a flood.Thick as corn-blades in a field.Lay scattered over all the land,
As thicke as doth the seede after the sower’s hand.Trembled like a lambe fled from prey.Wan as ashes.Wasted, as the snow congealed
When the bright sunne his beams thereon doth beat.Waved like a penon wyde dispred.White, withouten spot or pride, that seemed like silke and silver woven neare.Withered like hay.
