But ran away in his rent rags by night,
Ne ever stayd in place, ne spake to wight,
Till that the Foxe, his copesmate, he had found;
     [Copesmate, partner in trade.]
To whome complayning his unhappie stound, 940
     [Stound, plight, exigency.]
At last againe with him in travell ioynd,
And with him far’d some better chaunee to fynde. 
So in the world long time they wandered,
And mickle want and hardnesse suffered;
That them repented much so foolishly 945
To come so farre to seeke for misery,
And leave the sweetnes of contented home,
Though eating hipps and drinking watry fome.
     [Hipps, dog-rose berries.]
Thus as they them complayned too and fro,
Whilst through the forest rechlesse they did goe, 950
     [Rechlesse, reckless.]
Lo! where they spide how in a gloomy glade
The Lyon sleeping lay in secret shade,
His crowne and scepter lying him beside,
And having doft for heate his dreadfull hide: 
Which when they saw, the Ape was sore afrayde, 955
And would have fled with terror all dismayde. 
But him the Foxe with hardy words did stay,
And bad him put all cowardize away;
For now was time, if ever they would hope,
To ayme their counsels to the fairest scope, 960
And them for ever highly to advaunce,
In case the good which their owne happie chaunce
Them freely offred they would wisely take. 
Scarse could the Ape yet speake, so did he quake;
Yet, as he could, he askt how good might growe 965
Where nought but dread and death do seeme in show. 
“Now,” sayd he, “whiles the Lyon sleepeth sound,
May we his crowne and mace take from the ground,
And eke his skinne, the terror of the wood,
Wherewith we may our selves, if we thinke good, 970
Make kings of beasts, and lords of forests all
Subiect unto that powre imperiall.” 
“Ah! but,” sayd the Ape, “who is so bold a wretch,
That dare his hardy hand to those outstretch,
When as he knowes his meede, if he be spide, 975
To be a thousand deathes, and shame beside?”
“Fond Ape!” sayd then the Foxe, “into whose brest
Never crept thought of honor nor brave gest,
     [Gest, deed.]
Who will not venture life a king to be,
And rather rule and raigne in soveraign see, 980
Than dwell in dust inglorious and bace,
Where none shall name the number of his place? 
One ioyous howre in blisfull happines,
I chose before a life of wretchednes. 
Be therefore counselled herein by me, 985
And shake off this vile-harted cowardree. 
If he awake, yet is not death the next,
For we may colour it with some pretext
Of this or that, that may excuse the cryme: