With flow’ring blossoms to furnish the prime,
And scarlet berries in summer time?
(How falls it then that this faded Oak,
Whose body is sere, whose branches broke,
Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire,
Unto such tyranny doth aspire;
Hindering with his shade my lovely light,
And robbing me of the sweet sun’s sight?
So beat his old boughs my tender side,
That oft the blood springeth from woundës wide;
Untimely my flowers forced to fall,
That be the honour of your coronal:
And oft he lets his canker-worms light
Upon my branches, to work me more spite;
And oft his hoary locks down doth cast,
Wherewith my fresh flow’rets be defast:
For this, and many more such outrage,
Craving your goodlyhead to assuage
The rancorous rigour of his might;
Nought ask I, but only to hold my right;
Submitting me to your good sufferance,
And praying to be guarded from grievance.’
“To this this Oak cast him to reply
Well as he couth; but his enemy
Had kindled such coals of displeasure,
That the goodman nould stay his leisure,
But home him hasted with furious heat,
Increasing his wrath with many a threat:
His harmful hatchet he hent in hand,
(Alas! that it so ready should stand!)
And to the field alone he speedeth,
(Aye little help to harm there needeth!)
Anger nould let him speak to the tree,
Enaunter his rage might cooled be;
But to the root bent his sturdy stroke,
And made many wounds in the waste Oak.
The axe’s edge did oft turn again,
14
