Now gan he repent his pride too late;
For, naked left and disconsolate,
The biting frost nipt his stalk dead,
The watry wet weighed down his head,
And heaped snow burden'd him so sore,
That now upright he can stand no more;
And, being down, is trod in the durt
Of cattle, and broused, and sorely hurt.
Such was th' end of this ambitious Brere,
For scorning eld—"