Withouten dread of wolves to be ytost;
Thy lovely lays here mayst thou freely boast:
But I, unhappy man! whom cruel Fate
And angry gods pursue from coast to coast,
Can nowhere find to shroud my luckless pate.
HOB. Then, if by me thou list advised be,
Forsake the soil that so doth thee bewitch;
Leave me those hills were harbrough n'is to see,
Nor holly-bush, nor briar, nor winding ditch;
And to the dales resort, where shepheards rich,