V.

A field there is, where, if a stake oe prest Deep in the earth, what hath in earth receipt, Is changed to stone in hardness, cold, and weight, The wood above doth soon consuming rest.

The earth her ears; the stake is my request; Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seat, To honour turned, doth dwell in honour’s nest, Keeping that form, though void of wonted heat; But all the rest, which fear durst not apply, Failing themselves, with withered conscience die.