[CHAPTER XI.]
O what an easie thing is to descry
The gentle blood, however it be wrapt
In sade misfortunes foule deformity
And wretched sorrowes which have often hapt!
For,--howsoever it may grow mis-shapt
Like this wyld man being undisciplyned
That to all virtue it may seeme unapt,--
Yet it will show some sparkles of gentle mynd
And at the last breake forth in his owne proper kynd.