Edmund Spenser

There is no disputing about taste.
[Lat., De gustibus non disputandum.]

There is no disputing about taste.
[Lat., De gustibus non disputandum.]

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.

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?

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
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And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore.