I'm really only using the excuse of this competition to vent a poem I've wanted to write for years, but worried was too spiteful and petty to spend time on now that I am a grown up.
This is probably only because I am a very trivial person:
F.Q.
Being ye Fyrst
VI Bookes of Edmvnd Spenser hys Faerie Queene
faythfuly redused into foure verses.
Assorted thugges kitte up in suitts of tinne;
wayge lothesome Warre on Terrour through ye wood;
Raype, murther, waterborde foule Sarrasins.
(They're 'oure sonnes ...' so I gesse it's al goode).
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