Go seeking to learn what news here are walking,
To hark of what things the people are talking.
I like not this soil, for as I go plodding,
I mark there two, there three, their heads always nodding,
In close secret wise, still whispering together.
If I ask any question, no man doth answer:
But shaking their heads, they go their ways speaking;
I mark how with tears their wet eyes are leaking:
Some strangeness there is, that breedeth this musing.
Well, I will to my masters, and tell of their using,