Unto his mother straight he weeping came,

And of his griefe complayned:

Who could not chose but laugh at his fond game,

Though sad to see him pained.

“Think now,”quoth she, “my sonne, how great the smart

Of those whom thou dost wound:

Full many thou hast prickéd to the hart,

That pitty never found:

Therefore, henceforth some pitty take,

When thou doest spoyle1 of lovers make.”

注释：1.spoyle：抢劫，掠夺。