And set his rest amongst the rusticke sort,
Rather then hunt still after shadowes vaine
Of courtly fauour, fed with light report[556]
Of euery blaste, and sayling alwaies in[557] the port.
Ne certes mote he greatly blamed be, iii
From so high step to stoupe vnto so low.
For who had tasted once (as oft did he)
The happy peace, which there doth ouerflow,
And prou’d the perfect pleasures, which doe grow
Amongst poore hyndes, in hils, in woods, in dales,