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Unto His Mother Straight He Weeping Came [Epigram]
by [?]

Unto his mother straight he weeping came,
And of his griefe complayned;
Who could not chuse but laugh at his fond game,
Though sad to see him pained.
“Think now,” quoth she, “my son, how great the smart
Of those whom thou dost wound:
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,
That pitty never found.
Therefore, henceforth some pitty take,
When thou doest spoyle of lovers make.”