So beate his old boughes my tender side,

That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wyde; Untimely my flowres forced to fall,

That bene the honor of your Coronall:

And oft he lets his cancker-wormes light

Upon my braunches, to worke me more spight;
And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast,
Where-with my fresh flowretts bene defast:
For this, and many more such outrage,
Craving your goodlihead to aswage
The ranckorous rigour of his might,
Nought aske I, but onely to hold my right;
Submitting me to your good sufferance,
And praying to be garded from greevance.'
To this the Oake cast him to replie
Well as he couth; but his enemie
Had kindled such coles of displeasure,
That the good man noulde stay his leasure,
But home him hasted with furious heate,
Encreasing his wrath with many a threate;
His harmefull Hatchet he hent in hand,
(Alas! that it so ready should stand!)
And to the field alone he speedeth,
(Ay little helpe to harme there needeth!)
Anger nould let him speake to the tree,
Enaunter his rage mought cooled bee;
But to the roote bent his sturdy stroke,
And made many wounds in the wast Oake.
The Axes edge did o't turne againe,
As halfe unwilling to cutte the graine;
Semed, the sencelesse yron dyd feare,
Or to wrong holy eld did forbeare:
For it had bene an auncient tree,

Sacred with many a mysteree,

And often crost with the priestes crewe
And often halowed with holy-water dewe :
But sike fancies weren foolerie,

And broughten this Oake to this miserye ;

For nought mought they quitten him from decay,
For fiercely the good man at him did laye.
The blocke oft groned under the blow,
And sighed to see his neare overthrow.
In fine, the steele had pierced his pitth,

Tho downe to the earth he fell forthwith.

His wonderous weight made the ground to quake,
Thearth shronke under him, and seemed to shake-
There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none!

Now stands the Brere like a lord alone,
Puffed up with pryde and vaine pleasaunce;
But all this glee had no continuaunce:
For eftsones Winter gan to approche;
The blustering Boreas did encroche,
And beate upon the solitarie Brere;

For nowe no succoure was seene him nere.
Now gan he repent his pryde to late;
For, naked left and disconsolate,
The byting frost nipt his s'alke dead,
The watrie wette weighed downe his head,
And heaped snowe burdned him so sore,
That nowe upright he can stand no more;
And, being downe, is trodde in the durt,
Of cattell, and brouzed, and sorely hurt.
Such was thend of this Ambitious brere,
For scorning Eld-

CHASE AFTER LOVE.
[March.]

Tho. It was upon a holiday,

When shepheardes groomes han leave to playe,

I cast to goe a shooting.

Long wandring up and downe the land,

With bowe and bolts in either hand,
For birds in bushes tooting',

At length within an Yvie todde 2,

(There shrouded was the little God)
i heard a busie bustling.

3

Looking about.

2

a thick bush.

I bent my bolt against the bush,
Listening if any thing did rushe,

But then heard no more rustling:
Tho, peeping close into the thicke,
Might see the moving of some quicke,
Whose shape appeared not;

But were it faerie, feend, or snake,
My courage earnd' it to awake,

And manfully thereat shotte.

With that sprong forth a naked swayne With spotted winges, like Peacocks trayne, And laughing lope to a tree;

His gylden quiver at his backe,

And silver bowe, which was but slacke,
Which lightly he bent at me:

That seeing, I levelde againe

And shott at him with might and maine, As thicke as it had hayled.

So long I shott, that al was spent ;

Tho pumie stones I hastly hent

And threwe; but nought availed:

He was so wimble and so wight,
From bough to bough he lepped light,
And oft the pumies latched.
Therewith affrayd, I ranne away :
But he, that earst seemd but to playe,
A shaft in earnest snatched,

And hit me running in the heele:
For then I little smart did feele,

But soone it sore encreased;
And now it ranckleth more and more,
And inwardly it festreth sore,

Ne wote I how to cease it.
Wil. Thomalin, I pittie thy plight,
Perdie with Love thou diddest fight:
I know him by a token;
For once I heard my father say,
How he him caught upon a day,
(Whereof he will be wroken)

A yearned.

2 caught

Entangled in a fowling net,

Which he for carrion Crowes had set

That in our Peere-tree haunted:

Tho sayd, he was a winged lad,
But bowe and shafts as then none had,
Els had he sore be daunted.

But see, the Welkin thicks apace,
And stouping Phebus steepes his face:

Yts time to hast us homeward.

DESCRIPTION OF MAYING.

[May.]

Palinode. Is not thilke the mery moneth of May, When love-lads masken in fresh aray?

How falles it, then, we no merrier bene,
Ylike as others, girt in gawdy greene?
Our bloncket liveryes' bene all to sadde

For thilke same season, when all is ycladd

With pleasaunce: the grownd with grasse, the Woods
With greene leaves, the bushes with bloosming buds.
Yougthes folke now flocken in every where,

To gather May bus-kets and smelling brere:
And home they hasten the postes to dight,
And all the Kirke pillours eare day light,
With Hawthorne buds, and swete Eglantine,
And girlonds of roses, and Sopps in wine.
Such merimake holy Saints doth queme2,
But we here sitten as drownd in a dreme.

Piers. For Younkers, Palinode, such follies fitte,

But we tway bene men of elder witt.

Pal. Sicker this morrowe, no lenger agoe,

I sawe a shole of shepeheardes outgoe

With singing, and shouting, and jolly chere:
Before them yode a lusty Tabrere,

That to the many a Horne-pype playd,

Whereto they dauncen, eche one with his may2

1

gray coats.

2

please.

1

To see those folkes make such jovysaunce,
Made my heart after the pype to daunce:
Tho to the greene Wood they speeden hem all
To fetchen home May with their musicall:
And home they bringen in a royall throne,
Crowned as king: and his Queene attone
Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend

A fayre flocke of Faeries, and a fresh bend
Of lovely Nymphs. (O that I were there,
To helpen the Ladyes their Maybush beare!)
Ah! Piers, bene not thy teeth on edge, to thinke
How great sport they gaynen with little swinck?

THE COMPLAINT OF AGE.

[December.]

Whilome in youth, when flowrd my joyfull spring,
Like Swallow swift I wandred here and there;
For heate of heedlesse lust me so did sting,
That I of doubted daunger had no feare:

I went the wastefull woodes and forest wide,
Withouten dreade of Wolves to bene espyed

How often have I scaled the craggie Oke,
All to dislodge the Raven of her nest?
How have I wearied with many a stroke
The stately Walnut-tree, the while the rest
Under the tree fell all for nuts at strife?
For ylike to me was libertee and lyfe.

Tho gan my lovely Spring bid me farewel,
And Sommer season sped him to display
(For love then in the Lyons house did dwell)
The raging fyre that kindled at his ray.

A comett stird up that unkindly heate.
That reigned (as men sayd) in Venus seate.