I02 The Chase 



The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, 

 Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder; 

 The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth, 

 Controlling what he was controlled with. 



His ears up-prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 

 Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end ; 

 His nostrils drink the air, and forth again. 

 As from a furnace, vapours doth he send ; 

 His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, 

 Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 



Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps. 

 With gentle majesty and modest pride ; 

 Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps. 

 As, who should say, " Lo, thus my strength is tried ; 

 And this I do to captivate the eye 

 Of the fair breeder that is standing by." 



What recketh he his rider's angry stir. 



His flattering " Holla " or his *' Stand I say " ? 



What cares he now for curb or pricking spur ? 



For rich caparisons or trapping gay ? 



He sees his love, and nothing else he sees. 

 For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 



Look, when a painter would surpass the life 

 In limning out a well-proportion'd steed, 

 His art with nature's workmanship at strife. 

 As if the dead the living should exceed ; 

 So did this horse excel a common one 

 In shnpe, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. 



Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, 

 Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, 



