_Gentylman._ Most myghty prynce and god of every nacyon, Pleaseth your hyghnes to vouchsave the herynge 260 Of me, whyche, accordynge to [y]our proclamacyon, B i _b_ Doth make apparaunce, in way of besechynge, Not sole for myself, but generally For all come of noble and auncyent stock, Whych sorte above all doth most thankfully 265 Dayly take payne for welth of the comen flocke, With dylygent study alway devysynge To kepe them in order and unyte, In peace to labour the encrees of theyr lyvynge, Wherby eche man may prosper in plente. 270 Wherfore, good god, this is our hole desyrynge, That for ease of our paynes, at tymes vacaunt, In our recreacyon, whyche chyefely is huntynge, It may please you to sende us wether pleasaunt, Drye and not mysty, the wynde calme and styll. 275 That after our houndes yournynge[132] so meryly, Chasynge the dere over dale and hyll, In herynge we may folow and to-comfort the cry. _Jupyter._ Ryght well we do perceyve your hole request, Whyche shall not fayle to reste in memory, 280 Wherfore we wyll ye set your-selfe at rest, Tyll we have herde eche man indyfferently, And we shall take suche order, unyversally, As best may stande to our honour infynyte, For welth in commune and ech mannys synguler profyte. 285 _Gentylman._ In heven and yerth honoured be the name Of Jupyter, who of his godly goodnes Hath set this mater in so goodly frame, That every wyght shall have his desyre, doutles. And fyrst for us nobles and gentylmen, 290 I doute not, in his wysedome, to provyde Suche wether as in our huntynge, now and then, We may both teyse[133] and receyve[134] on every syde. Whyche thynge, ones had, for our seyd recreacyon, Shall greatly prevayle[135] you in preferrynge our helth 295 For what thynge more nedefull then our preservacyon, Beynge the weale and heddes of all comen welth? _Mery-reporte._ Now I besech your mashyp, whose hed be you? _Gentylman._ Whose hed am I? Thy hed. What seyst thou now? _Mery-reporte._ Nay, I thynke yt very trew, so god me helpe! 300 For I have ever bene, of a lyttell whelpe, B ii So full of fansyes, and in so many fyttes, So many smale reasons, and in so many wyttes, That, even as I stande, I pray God I be dede, If ever I thought them all mete for one hede. 305 But syns I have one hed more then I knew, Blame not my rejoycynge,--I love all thinges new. And suer it is a treasour of heddes to have store: One feate can I now that I never coude before. _Gentylman._ What is that?