Hight Mother Hubberd, who did farre surpas
The rest in honest mirth, that seem’d her well. 35
She, when her turne was come her tale to tell,
Tolde of a strange adventure that betided
Betwixt the Foxe and th’Ape by him misguided;
The which, for that my sense it greatly pleased,
All were my spirite heavie and diseased, 40
Ile write in termes, as she the same did say,
So well as I her words remember may. 
No Muses aide me needes heretoo to call;
Base is the style, and matter meane withall.
     [Base, humble.]

[Symbol:  Paragraph mark to indicate beginning of story.]
Whilome, said she, before the world was civill,
The Foxe and th’Ape, disliking of their evill 46
And hard estate, determined to seeke
Their fortunes farre abroad, lyeke with his lyeke: 
For both were craftie and unhappie witted;
     [Unhappie, mischievous.]
Two fellowes might no where be better fitted. 50
The Foxe, that first this cause of griefe did finde,
Gan first thus plaine his case with words unkinde: 
“Neighbour Ape, and my gossip eke beside,
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be tide,)
To whom may I more trustely complaine 55
The evill plight that doth me sore constraine,
And hope thereof to finde due remedie? 
Heare then my paine and inward agonie. 
Thus manie yeares I now have spent and worne,
In meane regard, and basest fortunes scorne, 60
Dooing my countrey service as I might,
No lesse I dare saie than the prowdest wight;
And still I hoped to be up advaunced
For my good parts; but still it hath mischaunced. 
Now therefore that no lenger hope I see, 65
But froward fortune still to follow mee,
And losels lifted up on high, where I did looke,
     [Losels, worthless fellows.]
I meane to turne the next leafe of the booke. 
Yet ere that anie way I doe betake,
I meane my gossip privie first to make.” 70
“Ah! my deare gossip,” answer’d then the Ape,
“Deeply doo your sad words my wits awhape,
     [Awhape, astound.]
Both for because your griefe doth great appeare,
And eke because my selfe am touched neare: 
For I likewise have wasted much good time, 75
Still wayting to preferment up to clime,
Whilst others alwayes have before me stept,
And from my beard the fat away have swept;
That now unto despaire I gin to growe,
And meane for better winde about to throwe. 80
Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread
     [Aread, declare.]
Thy councell:  two is better than one head.” 
“Certes,” said he, “I meane me to disguize
In some straunge habit, after uncouth wize,