And, pregnant once, doth soone bring forth an other;
Wee, who last night did learne to loose our way,
Are perfect since, and farther out next day.
And in a forrest[102] having travell’d sore,
Like wandring Bevis ere hee found the bore;
Or as some love-sick lady oft hath donne,
Ere shee was rescued by the Knight of th’ Sunne:
Soe are wee lost, and meete no comfort then
But carts and horses, wiser then the men.
Which is the way? They neyther speake nor point;