Penelope for her Vlisses sake, <br />Deuiz'd a Web her wooers to deceaue: <br />in which the worke that she all day did make <br />the same at night she did againe vnreaue, <br />Such subtile craft my Damzell doth conceaue, <br />th'importune suit of my desire to shonne: <br />for all that I in many dayes doo weaue, <br />in one short houre I find by her vndonne. <br />So when I thinke to end that I begonne, <br />I must begin and neuer bring to end: <br />for with one looke she spils that long I sponne, <br />& with one word my whole years work doth rend. <br />Such labour like the Spyders web I fynd, <br />whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxiii-2/
