Xxii

In greene vine leaves he was right fitly clad; For other clothes he could not weare for heat, And on his head an yvie girland had, From under which fast trickled downe the sweat: Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat, And in his hand did beare a bouzing can, Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat His dronken corse he scarse upholden can, In shape and life more like a monster, then a man.