172 DEATH OF THE FOX. 



they all give their tongues ! Little Dread- 

 nought, how he works him ! the terriers, too, 

 they now are squeaking at him. How close 

 Vengeance pursues ! how terribly she presses ! 

 It is just up with him ! Gods! what a crash 

 they make ! the whole wood resounds ! That 

 turn was very short ! There !— r-now — ay, now 

 they have him ! Who-hoop ! 



