Said, ‘O, by Ja—s! you’ll ne’er get to France!
‘He’s a Frenchman, Master, that lies sprawling,
‘The Wolves have given him a pretty mauling.’
‘What, Teague,’ said John, who felt another dread,
‘Is’t Wolves that have upon this Carcase fed?’
Again with horror did around him peer;
‘Won’t they attack us, Teague?’ they must be near.
‘Attack,’ says Teague, ‘your honour need not fright;
‘If we were dead, and Travelling here, they might.’
John tired, and anxious, now began to grumble,