"To whome the Pine, with longe Experience wise, And ofte had seene suche peacockes loose theire plumes, Thus aunswere made, thow owght'st not to despise, My stocke at all, oh foole, thow much presumes. In coulde and heate, here longe hath bene my happe, Yet am I sounde and full of livelie sappe. But, when the froste and coulde shall thee assaie, Thowghe nowe alofte, thow bragge, and freshlie bloome, Yet, then the roote shall rotte and fade awaie, And shortlie, none shall knowe where was thy roome: Thy fruicte and leaves, that nowe so highe aspire, The passers by shall treade within the mire."