Whose way is wilderness, whose inn penance,
And stoop-gallant Age, the host of Grievance.
But shall I tell thee a tale of truth,
Which I cond of Tityrus in my youth,
Keeping his sheep on the hills of Kent?
CUD. To nought more, Thenot, my mind is bent
Than to hear novels of his devise;
They be so well thewed, and so wise,
Whatever that good old man bespake.
THE. Many meet tales of youth did he make,