Eache bragginge curre, beginnes to square, and brall:
The freër sorte, doe wonder at his fate,
And thinke them beste, that are of stature small:
For they maie sleepe vppon their mistris bedde,
And on their lappes, with daynties still bee fedde.
The loftie pine, with axe is ouerthrowne,
And is prepar’d, to serue the shipmans turne:
When bushes stande, till stormes bee ouerblowne,
And lightninges flashe, the mountaine toppes doth burne.
All which doe shewe that pompe, and worldlie power,