Another

Britain a lovely Orchard seem’d to be

Furnish’d with natures choise variety,

Temptations golden fruit of every sort,

Th’ Hesperian Garden fann’d from fein’d report;

Great boyes and small together in we brake,

No matter what disdain’d Priapus spake:

Up, up, we lift the great boyes in the trees,

Hoping a common share to sympathize:

But they no sooner there, neglected streight

The shoulders that so rais’d them to this height;

And fell to stuffing of their own bags first,

And as their treasure grew, so did their thirst.

Whiles we in lean expectance gaping stand,

For one shake from their charitable hand.

But all in vain, the dropsie of desire

So scortch’d them, three Realms could not quench the fire.

Be wise then in your Ale, bold youths, for fear

The Gardner catch us as Mosse caught his Mare.