Thus stode I in the frytthy forest of Galtres,
Ensowkid with sylt[1463] of the myry mose,
Where hartis belluyng, embosyd with distres,
Ran on the raunge so longe, that I suppose
Few men can tell now[1464] where the hynde calfe gose;
Faire fall that forster[1465] that so well[1466] can bate his hownde!
But of my purpose[1467] now torne we to the grownde.
Whylis I stode musynge in this medytatyon,
In slumbrynge I fell[1468] and halfe in a slepe; 30
And whether it were of ymagynacyon,