Poem by Edmund Spenser

Amoretti 31. Ah! why hath Nature to so hard a hart

Ah! why hath Nature to so hard a hart
Given so goodly giftes of beauties grace,
Whose pryde depraves each other better part,
And all those pretious ornaments deface?
Sith to all other beastes of bloody race
A dreadfull countenance she given hath,
That with theyr terrour all the rest may chace,
And warne to shun the daunger of theyr wrath.
But my proud one doth worke the greater scath*,
Through sweet allurement of her lovely hew,
That she the better may in bloody bath
Of such poore thralls her cruell hands embrew.
  But did she know how ill these two accord,
  Such cruelty she would have soone abhord.

[* Scath, injury.] 

1. Amoretti 46. When my abodes prefixed time is spent
2. Amoretti 13. In that proud port which her so goodly graceth
3. Amoretti 23. Penelope, for her Ulisses sake
4. Amoretti 69. The famous warriors of the anticke world
5. Amoretti 42. The love which me so cruelly tormenteth

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