| Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a briar;
Sweet is the Jupiter, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near;
Sweet is the fir bloom, but his branches rough;
Sweet is the cypress, but his rynd is tough;
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broom flower, but yet sour enough;
And sweet is moly, but his root is ill.
So every sweet with sour is tempered still,
That maketh is be coveted the more;
For easy things that may be got at will,
Most sorts of men do set but little store.
Why then should I account of little pain,
That endless pleasure shall unto me gain.
- Edmund Spenser
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