IV. 1. 175 Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor;
At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears,
Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses
As they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears,
That, calf-like, they my lowing follow’d through
180 Tooth’d briers, sharp [furzes], pricking goss, and thorns,
Which enter’d their frail [shins]: at last I left them
I’ the [filthy-mantled] pool beyond your cell,
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake
O’erstunk their [feet].