A saplesse Bough, quite broken from the Tree,
(Ev'n such as that, in this our Emblem, here)
And, yet, I neither feele Despaire, nor Feare;
For, I have seene (e're now) a little Spray,
(Rent from her Stemme) lye trodden by the way,
Three moneths together; which, when Spring drew on,
To take an unexpected Root begun;
(Yea, grew to bee a Tree) and, growing, stood,
When those great Groves, were fell'd for firing-wood,
Which once had high esteeme; and sprung unhurt,