And thereto aye wonted to repair
The shepheards' daughters to gather flowers,
To paint their garlands with his colours;
And in his small bushes used to shroud
The sweet nightingale singing so loud;
Which made this foolish Brere wax so bold,
That on a time he cast him to scold
And snebbe the good Oak, for he was old.
"'Why standst there (quoth he) thou brutish block?
Nor for fruit nor for shadow serves thy stock;