Rood

The Citizens in their rage, imagining that euery poſt in the Churche had bin one of yᵉ Souldyers, ſhot habbe or nabbe at randon^([sic – meaning random]) uppe to the Roode lofte, and to the Chancell, leauing ſome of theyr arrowes ſticking in the Images.

Have you forgot me? No, by the rood, not so.

By holy rood, a royal beard! / How say you? we have slept, my lords. / My beard has grown into my lap.

Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth / Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth, / Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood / Changes and off he goes!) within a rood— / Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.

[…] a bumptious fool whose god was property, not property in vast estates such as a true man might worship, but in paltry roods.

Perhaps, however, he could ensure against being completely alone by cultivating the few roods of garden wished upon him.

Thus Satan […] his other parts besides / Prone on the flood, extended long and large, / Lay floating many a rood […]

Nou goth sonne under wode,— Me reweth, Marie, thi faire Rode. Nou goth sonne under tre,—