His foode, for most, was wilde fruites of the tree, Unlesse sometime some crums fell to his share, Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept hee, As one the which full daintely would fare:[1531] His drinke, the running streame, his cup, the bare Of his palme cloasde, his bed, the hard cold ground: To this poore life was _Misery_ ybound. 39. Whose wretched state when wee had well beheld, With tender ruth on him, and on his feres, In thoughtfull cares forth then our pace wee held: And, by and by, another shape apperes Of greedy _Care_, still brushing vp the breres, His knuckles knobde, his flesh deepe dented in, With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin. 40. The morrowe gray no sooner hath begon To spreade his light, euen peping in our eyes, When[1532] hee is vp, and to his worke yrun: But let the night’s blacke misty mantles rise, And with foule darke neuer so mutch disguise The fayre bright day, yet ceasseth hee no while, But hath his candels to prolong his toyle. 41. By him lay heauy _Sleepe_, the[1533] cosin of _Death_, Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, A very corps, saue yelding forth a breath: Smale kepe tooke hee, whome fortune frowned on, Or whom shee lifted vp into the throne Of high renoune, but, as a liuing death, So, dead aliue, of life hee drew the breath. 42. The bodie’s rest, the quiet of the hart The trauailes ease, the still night’s feere was hee: And of our life in earth the better part, Reuer of sight, and yet in whom wee see Things oft that tyde,[1534] and oft that neuer bee: Without respect, esteming[1535] equally King _Crœsus’_ pompe, and _Irus’_ pouertie. 43. And next, in order sad, _Old Age_ wee found, His beard all hoare, his eyes hollow and blind, With drouping chere still poring on the ground, As on the place where nature him assinde To rest, when that the sisters had vntwynde His vitall thred, and ended with their knyfe The fleting course of fast declyning lyfe. 44. There heard wee him with broke[1536] and hollow plaint Rewe with him selfe his end approching fast, And all for nought his wretched mind torment, With sweete remembraunce of his pleasures past, And fresh delytes of lusty youth forewast: Recounting which, how would hee sob and shrike? And to bee yong agayne of loue beseke. 45.