English poetry

Poems in English

Poem 94

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.

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Poem Poem 94 - Edmund Spenser