Edmund Spenser

And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.

And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.

Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?

Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
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One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
Agayne I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tyde and made my paynes his prey.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.

And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.