3170How first his brow does wear a ferny flag,
And with curvettings beats the quaking ground;
Telling the fawns and wood-nymphs that he scorns
The hounds, horse, huntsmen, and their warbling horns.
But when he is embossed in blood and sweat,
When travail on his swiftness fetters hangs,
He then is frighted with the shrill recheat,
And fears a pinking with the yellers' fangs.
Seeks ev'rywhere for shelter, and dares rush
Malèd with fear, into the sharpest bush.