Was inly tickled with that golden vew,
And in his eare him rounded[1102] close behind:
Yet stoupt he not, but lay still in the wind,
Waiting aduauntage on the pray to sease;
Till Trompart lowly to the ground inclind,
Besought him his great courage to appease,
And pardon simple man, that rash did him displease.
Bigge looking like a doughtie Doucepere, xxxi
At last he thus; Thou clod of vilest clay,
I pardon yield, and with thy[1103] rudenesse beare;