Maxioms by Edmund Spenser
And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care.
And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.
And with unwearied fingers drawing out
The lines of life, from living knowledge hid.
There is no disputing about taste.
[Lat., De gustibus non disputandum.]
There is no disputing about taste.
[Lat., De gustibus non disputandum.]
Yet was he but a squire of low degree.
Yet was he but a squire of low degree.
It is an honourable thing to be merciful to the vanquished.
It is an honourable thing to be merciful to the vanquished.
