Poem Hunter
Poem 95
(1552 - 13 January 1599 / London / England)

Poem 95

Poem By Edmund Spenser

VNto his mother straight he weeping came,
and of his griefe complayned:
Who could not chose but laugh at his fond game,
though sad to see him pained.
Think now (quod she) my sonne how great the smart
of those whom thou dost wound:
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,
that pitty neuer found:
Therefore henceforth some pitty take,
when thou doest spoyle of louers make.

User Rating: 2,5 / 5 ( 63 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.