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George Gascoigne

Woodmanship

My worthy Lord, I pray you wonder not
To see your woodman shoot so oft awry,
Nor that he stands amazèd like a sot,
And lets the harmless deer unhurt go by.
Or if he strike a doe which is but carren,
Laugh not good Lord, but favor such a fault,
Take will in worth, he would fain hit the barren,
But though his heart be good, his hap is naught.
And therefore now I crave your Lordship's leave,
To tell you plain what is the cause of this.
First, if it please your honor to perceive
What makes your woodman shoot so oft amiss.
Believe me, Lord, the case is nothing strange:
He shoots awry almost at every mark,
His eyes have been so usèd for to range,
That now God knows they be both dim and dark.
For proof he bears the note of folly now,
Who shot sometimes to hit Philosophy,
And ask you why? forsooth I make avow,
Because his wanton wits went all awry.

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