Now ſtands the Brere like a Lord alone, / Puffed up with pryde and vaine pleaſaunce: / But all this glee had no continuaunce. / For eftſoones Winter gan to approche, / The bluſtring Boreas did encroche, / And beate upon the ſolitarie Brere: / For nowe no ſuccour was ſeene him neere.