NYMPHIDIA.
99
From thence he ran into a hive,Amongst the bees he letteth drive,And down their combs begins to rive, All likely to have spoiled:Which with their wax his face besmear'd,And with their honey daub'd his beard;It would have made a man affear'd, To see how he was moiled.
A new adventure him betides:He met an ant, which he bestrides,And post thereon away he rides, Which with his baste doth stumble;And came full over on her snout,Her heels so threw the dirt about,For she by no means could get out, But over him doth tumble.
And being in this piteous case,And all beslurried head and face,On runs he in this wild-goose chase, As here and there he rambles,Half blind, against a mole-hill hit,And for a mountain taking it,For all he was out of his wit, Yet to the top he scrambles.
