Xxxiii

Then groning deepe, Nor damned Ghost, (quoth he,) Nor guileful sprite to thee these wordes doth speake, But once a man Fradubio,° now a tree, Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weake A cruell witch her cursed will to wreake, Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines, Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake, And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines: For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines.