Poem 94 Poem by Edmund Spenser
Poem 94
Rating: ★2.8
NAthlesse the cruell boy not so content,
would needs the fly pursue:
And in his hand with heedlesse hardiment,
him caught for to subdue.
But when on it he hasty hand did lay,
the Bee him stung therefore:
Now out alasse (he cryde) and welaway,
I wounded am full sore:
The fly that I so much did scorne,
hath hurt me with his little horne.
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
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4/19/2024 11:00:02 PM # 1.0.0.1119
