Edmund Spenser

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
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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 is no disputing about taste.
[Lat., De gustibus non disputandum.]

There is no disputing about taste.
[Lat., De gustibus non disputandum.]

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?

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.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.