Beneathe an holme, faste by a pathwaie side Which dide unto Seynete Godwine's covent lede, A hapless pilgrim moneynge dyd abide, Pore in his viewe, ungentle in his weede, Longe bretful of the miseries of neede; Where from the hailstone coulde the almer flie?

Now all the Devils thou didst flie from my rage, Would thou hadst ta'ne devils ingendring plagues: When thou didst take them, hide thee from my eyes, Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them, or been strucken dumb For ever: that this foul deed might have slept in silence.

720 He stands on tearmes of honourable minde, Ne will be carried with the common winde Of courts inconstant mutabilitie, Ne after everie tattling fable flie; But heares and sees the follies of the rest, 725 And thereof gathers for himselfe the best.

There the fond flie, entangled, strugled long, 425 Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine.

At length the foolish flie, without foresight, As he that did all daunger quite despise, 390 Toward those parts came flying careleslie, Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.

Full many a ladie faire, in court full oft 105 Beholding them, him secretly envide, And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft And golden faire, her Love would her provide; Or that, when them the gorgeous flie had doft, Some one that would with grace be gratifide 110 From him would steale them privily away, And bring to her so precious a pray.

The silly flie, that no redresse did see, Spide where the Eagle built his towring nest, And, kindling fire within the hollow tree, Burnt up his yong ones, and himselfe distrest; Ne suffred him in anie place to rest, But drove in Ioves owne lap his egs to lay; Where gathering also filth him to infest, Forst with the filth his egs to fling away: For which, when as the foule was wroth, said Iove, "Lo!

I'le take thy noble Work (and like the trade Where for a heap of Salt pure Gold is layd) I'le lay thy Volume, that Huge Tome of wit, About in Ladies Closets, where they sit Enthron'd in their own wills; and if she bee A Laick sister, shee'l straight flie to thee: But if a holy Habit shee have on, Or be some Novice, shee'l scarce looks upon Thy Lines at first; but watch Her then a while,

Not thou, O Clarion, though fairest thou Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie flie, Whose cruell fate is woven even now 235 Of loves owne hand, to worke thy miserie!

The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire Of lustfull yongth* began to kindle fast, Did much disdaine to subiect his desire 35 To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast; But ioy'd to range abroad in fresh attire Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast, And with unwearied wings each part t'inquire Of the wide rule of his renownned sire.