Rueing, alas, upon the woeful plight
Of Misery, that next appear’d in sight.
His face was lean, and some deal pined away,
And eke his hands consumed to the bone;
But, what his body was, I cannot say,
For, on his carcase raiment had he none,
Save clouts and patched pierced one by one,
With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast,
His chief defence against the winter’s blast.
His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree,