THE Chancellor once was a tree full of fruit,
A tree in the summer and fann'd by the south,
He was great at the top and moist at the root,
And the good things he bore would drop into your mouth.
But since that his Lordship has quitted his place,
Steriles numerandus est arbores inter,
And now to solicit his favour and grace
Is searching your boughs for plums in the winter.
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