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.
(Edmund Spenser)
More Poetry from Edmund Spenser:
- An Hymne In Honour Of Beautie (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne of Heavenly Love (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne Of Heavenly Beautie (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- An Hymne In Honour Of Love (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- The Shepheardes Calender: May (Edmund Spenser Poems)
- The Shepheardes Calender: Februarie (Edmund Spenser Poems)