As when in Cymbrian plaine An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting, Doe for the milky mothers want… — Edmund Spenser
As when in Cymbrian plaine
An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting,
Doe for the milky mothers want complaine,
And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing.
Source: Wikiquote · CC BY-SA 4.0
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As withered weed through cruell winters tine,
That feeles the warmth of sunny beames reflection,
Liftes up his head, that did before decline
And gins to spread his leafe before the faire sunshine.
A monster, which the Blatant beast men call,
A dreadfull feend of gods and men ydrad.
Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercy ever hope to have?
