The waggoner, behoulde, is hedlonge throwen,
And all in vaine doth take the raine in hande,
If he be dwrawen by horses fierce unknowen,
Whose stomacks stowte, no taming understande,
They praunce, and yerke, and out of order flinge,
Till all they breake, and unto havocke bringe.
That man, whoe hath affections fowle untam'de,
And forwarde runnes neglecting reasons race,
Deserves by right, of all men to bee blam'de,
And headlonge falles at lengthe to his deface,
Then bridle will, and reason make thy guide,
So maiste thow stande, when others doune doe slide.