X.

A mighty Lyon, lord of all the wood, Having his hunger throughly satisfide With pray of beasts and spoyle of living blood, Safe in his dreadles den him thought to hide: His sternesse was his prayse, his strength his pride, And all his glory in his cruell clawes. I saw a Wasp, that fiercely him defide, And bad him battaile even to his iawes; Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth drawes, And his proude heart is fild with fretting ire: In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, his pawes, And from his bloodie eyes doth sparkle fire; That dead himselfe he wisheth for despight. So weakest may anoy the most of might!