The kingly bird that beares Ioves thunder-clap
One day did scorne the simple Scarabee*,
Proud of his highest service and good hap,
That made all other foules his thralls to bee. 
The silly flie, that no redresse did see,
Spide where the Eagle built his towring nest,
And, kindling fire within the hollow tree,
Burnt up his yong ones, and himselfe distrest;
Ne suffred him in anie place to rest,
But drove in Ioves owne lap his egs to lay;
Where gathering also filth him to infest,
Forst with the filth his egs to fling away: 
  For which, when as the foule was wroth, said Iove,
  “Lo! how the least the greatest may reprove.”

V.

Toward the sea turning my troubled eye,
I saw the fish (if fish I may it cleepe**)
That makes the sea before his face to flye,
And with his flaggie finnes doth seeme to sweepe
The fomie waves out of the dreadfull deep;
The huge Leviathan, dame Natures wonder,
Making his sport, that manie makes to weep. 
A Sword-fish small him from the rest did sunder
That, in his throat him pricking softly under,
His wide abysse him forced forth to spewe,
That all the sea did roare like heavens thunder,
And all the waves were stain’d with filthie hewe. 
  Hereby I learned have not to despise
  Whatever thing seemes small in common eyes.

[* Scarabee, beetle.] [** Cleepe, call.]

VI.

An hideous Dragon, dreadfull to behold,
Whose backe was arm’d against the dint of speare
With shields of brasse that shone like burnisht golde,
And forkhed sting that death in it did beare,
Strove with a Spider, his unequall peare,
And bad defiance to his enemie. 
The subtill vermin, creeping closely* neare,
Did in his drinke shed poyson privilie;
Which, through his entrailes spredding diversly,
Made him to swell, that nigh his bowells brust,
And him enforst to yeeld the victorie,
That did so much in his owne greatnesse trust. 
  O, how great vainnesse is it then to scorne
  The weake, that hath the strong so oft forlorne!**

[* Closely, secretly.] [** Forlorne, ruined.]

VII.

High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe,
Of wondrous length and straight proportion,
That farre abroad her daintie odours threwe;
Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon,
Her match in beautie was not anie one. 
Shortly within her inmost pith there bred
A litle wicked worme, perceiv’d of none,
That on her sap and vitall moysture fed: 
Thenceforth her garland so much honoured
Began to die, O great ruth* for the same! 
And her faire lockes fell from her loftie head,
That shortly balde and bared she became. 
  I, which this sight beheld, was much dismayed,
  To see so goodly thing so soone decayed.