iio The Chase 



And as she runs, the bushes in the way 

 Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face. 

 Some twine about her thigh to make her stay ; 

 She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace. 

 Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, 

 Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. 



By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay : 

 Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 

 Wreath'd up in fatal folds just in his way, 

 The fear whereof doth make him shake and 

 shudder ; 

 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds 

 Appals her senses and her spirit confounds. 



For now she knows it is no gentle chase. 

 But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud. 

 Because the cry remaineth in one place. 

 Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : 



Finding their enemy to be so curst. 



They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first. 



Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound. 

 And asks the weary caitiff for his master ; 

 And there another licking of his wound, 

 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster ; 

 And here she meets another sadly scowling, 

 To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. 



When he hath ceas'd his ill-resounding noise, 

 Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, 

 Against the welkin volleys out his voice ; 

 Another and another answer him. 



Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, 

 Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 



IViUiam Shakespeare. 



