No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling… — Edmund Spenser
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd,
No arborett with painted blossoms drest
And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.
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?
