HOUNDS.
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-lapp’d, like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells,
Each under each: a cry more tunable
Was never halloo’d to, nor cheered with horn.
W. Shakspeare.