Maxioms by Edmund Spenser
The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.
The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded.
Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
Entire affection hateth nicer hands.
Although the last, not least.
Although the last, not least.
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.
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.
