LVIII.
And dard his wisdom and his will arraign;
For boldly he the ways of God blasphemd,
And of blind governaunce did loudly plain,
While vild Selfe-pity would his eyes distain;
As when an Wolfe, entrapt in village ground,
In dread of death ygnaws his limb in twain,
And views with scalding teares his bleeding wound:
Such fierce Selfe-pity still this Wights dire portaunce crownd.
LIX.
Where, in the silver age, Content did wonne;
This now was His: yet all mote nought avail,
His loathing eyes that place did ever shun;
But ever through his Neighbours lawns would run,
Where every goodlie fielde thrice goodlie seemd.
Such was this weary Wight all woe-begone;
Such was his life; and thus of things he deemd;
And suchlike was his Cave, that all with sorrowes teemd.
