My love shall hear the musick of my hounds : 



Let them uncouple in the Western valley, go ; 



Despatch, I say, and find the Forester. 



We will, fair Queen, up to the Mountain's top, 



And mark the musical confusion 



Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 



Hippolyta. I was with Hercules and Cadmus 

 once, 

 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the boar 

 With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 

 Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 

 The skies, the fountains, every region near, 

 Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 

 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 



Theseus. My hounds are bred out of the 

 Spartan kind, 

 So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 

 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 

 Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapt like Thessalian Bulls ; 

 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 

 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 

 Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 

 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 

 Judge, when you hear. 



Willi mn Shakespeare. 



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