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Little him answered the Oake againe,
But yielded, with shame and greefe adawed,
That of a weede he was overawed.

Yt chaunced after upon a day,
The husbandman selfe to come that way,
Of custome for to survewe his grownd, 145
And his trees of state in compasse rownd.
Him when the spitefull Brere had espyed,
Causlesse complained, and lowdly cryed
Unto his lord, stirring up sterne strife:

'O my liege Lord, the god of my life, 150 Pleaseth you ponder your suppliants plaint, Caused of wrong, and cruell constraint, Which I your poore vassall dayly endure: And but your goodnes the same recure, Am like for desperate doole to dye, Through felonous force of mine enemie.' Greatly aghast with this piteous plea,

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Whose naked armes stretch unto the fyr
Unto such tyrannie doth aspire;
Hindering with his shade my lovely light,
And robbing me of the swete sonnes sight?
So beate his old boughes my tender side, 17
That oft the bloud springeth from wound
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 mor
spight:

18

I

I

And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast
Where with my fresh flowretts bene defas
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 righ
Submitting me to your good sufferance,
And praying to be garded from greevanc
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 oft 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 crew
And often halowed with holy water dew

1

2

For fiercely the goodman 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 grounde to
quake,

Thearth shronke under him, and seemed to shake.

There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none.

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225

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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 blustring 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 stalke 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 235 Of cattell, and brouzed, and sorely hurt. Such was thend of this ambitious Brere, For scorning eld

The glory eke much greater then the gayne:
O what an honor is it, to restraine
The lust of lawlesse youth with good ad-
vice,

Or pricke them forth with pleasaunce of thy vaine,

Whereto thou list their traynèd willes entice!

Soone as thou gynst to sette thy notes in

O how the rural routes to thee doe cleave! Seemeth thou doest their soule of sense bereave,

All as the shepheard, that did fetch his dame From Plutoes balefull bowre withouten

leave:

His musicks might the hellish hound did

Cud. So praysen babes the peacoks spotted traine,

And wondren at bright Argus blazing eye; But who rewards him ere the more forthy? Or feedes him once the fuller by a graine? Sike prayse is smoke, that sheddeth in the skye,

35

Sike words bene wynd, and wasten soone in

vayne.