And mochell mast to the husband did yield,
And with his nuts larded many swine:
But now the gray moss marred his rine;
His bared boughs were beaten with storms,
His top was bald, and wasted with worms,
His honour decayed, his branches sere.
"Hard by his side grew a bragging Brere,
Which proudly thrust into th' element,
And seemed to threat the firmament:
It was embellish'd with blossoms fair,