How he outruns the wind, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles.[25]
When he has for a little succeeded in throwing the hounds off the scent,
Poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs, with listening ear,
To hearken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear,
Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,