Others the utmost boughs of trees doe crop, And brouze the woodbine twigges that freshly bud; This with full bit* doth catch the utmost top Of some soft willow, or new growen stud**; This with sharpe teeth the bramble leaves doth lop, 85 And chaw the tender prickles in her cud; The whiles another high doth overlooke Her owne like image in a christall brooke.

When the body's strongest sinews slake.

A chafer of water to cool the ends of the irons.

Jesus falls again, and now some woman brings him a drink. I'm getting so tired of this whole sequence. When are they going to get to the fireworks factory!?