Edmund Spenser

Yet was he but a squire of low degree.

Yet was he but a squire of low degree.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For read more

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.

There grewe an aged tree on the greene;
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene,
With armes read more

There grewe an aged tree on the greene;
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene,
With armes full strong and largely displayed,
But of their leaves they were disarayde
The bodie bigge, and mightely pight,
Thoroughly rooted, and of wond'rous hight;
Whilome had bene the king of the field,
And mochell mast to the husband did yielde,
And with his nuts larded many swine:
But now the gray mosse marred his rine;
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes,
His toppe was bald, and wasted with wormes,
His honour decayed, his brauches sere.

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.

Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?

Who will not mercie unto others show,
How can he mercie ever hope to have?