It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill, That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore: For some, that hath abundance at his will, Hath not enough, but… - Edmund Spenser

It is the mynd, that maketh good or ill,
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore:
For some, that hath abundance at his will,
Hath not enough, but wants in greatest store

For deeds do die, however nobly done,
And thoughts of men do as themselves decay;
But wise words, taught in numbers for to run,
Recorded by the Muses, live for aye;
Nor may with storming showers be washed away;
Nor bitter-breathing winds, with harmful blast,
Nor age, nor envy, shall them ever waste.

Roses red and violets blew, And all the sweetest flowres that in the forrest grew.

Through thicke and thin, both over banke and bush In hope her to attaine by hooke or crooke.