Edmund Spenser

Who will not mercie unto others show,

How can he mercy ever hope to have?

Me seemes the world is runne quite out of square,

From the first point of his appointed sourse,

And being once amisse growes daily wourse and wourse.

But Justice, though her dome [doom] she doe prolong,

Yet at the last she will her owne cause right.

And as she lookt about, she did behold,

How over that same dore was likewise writ,

Be bold, be bold, and every where Be bold,

That much she muz'd, yet could not construe it

By any ridling skill, or commune wit.

At last she spyde at that same roomes upper end,

Another yron dore, on which was writ,

Be not too bold.

The gentle minde by gentle deeds is knowne.

For a man by nothing is so well bewrayd,

As by his manners.

Ill can he rule the great, that cannot reach the small.

And all for love, and nothing for reward.

And is there care in Heaven? And is there love

In heavenly spirits to these Creatures bace?

Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,

And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave?

Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas,

Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

The noblest mind the best contentment has.

Ay me, how many perils doe enfold

The righteous man, to make him daily fall!