A Wight was clad most Foster-like in greene,
With loyal horne and hunting pole in hand:
Whose chanting houds were heard in woods & seene
The deere amasde before the rider stand:
The keeper bids goe choose the best in heard:
The huntsman sayd, my choise is not to change:
And drawing neere the deere was sore affeard,
Into the woods the rider spurd to range:
There did he view a faire young barren doe
Within the hey fast by the purley side,
And woodman-like did take the winde then soe,
Whereby the deere might better him abide.
At length he shot, and hit the very same
Where he best likte and lou'd of all the game.