Edmund Spenser

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

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

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.

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.

It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy,
rich or poor.

It is the mind that maketh good of ill, that maketh wretch or happy,
rich or poor.

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.