And often cross'd with the priests' crew,
And often hallowed with holy-water dew:
But sike fancies weren foolery,
And broughten this Oak to this misery;
For nought might they quitten him from decay,
For fiercely the goodman at him did lay.
The block oft groaned under the blow,
And sighed to see his near overthrow.
In fine, the steel had pierced his pith,
Then down to the earth he fell forthwith.