Edmund Spenser

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.

Yet was he but a squire of low degree.

Yet was he but a squire of low degree.

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.

Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.

Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.

Virtue may be cheerful without forgetting its dignity.

Virtue may be cheerful without forgetting its dignity.