ngwood, who had been leading the rest
of the pack, strove in vain for a considerable time to pick out the cold
scent, until suddenly the cheery sound of the old huntsman's voice was
heard crying:

[Footnote 18: _Two Noble Kinsmen_, III. v.]

[Footnote 19: _Venus and Adonis_, 692.]

"Fury! Fury! There, Tyrant, there! Hark! Hark!" [20]

and the whole pack went "yoppeting" off as happy as the hunt was long.
He told how Belman fairly surpassed himself, and "twice to-day picked
out the dullest scent";[21] and how little Dobbin, the Irish hobby, went
cantering on "as true as truest horse, that yet would never tire." [22]
He told how, after running from scent to view, they came down into the
woodlands of the valley of the Coln, and awoke the echoes with their
"gallant chiding."

[Footnote 20: _Tempest_, IV, i.]

[Footnote 21: _Taming of the Shrew_, Introduction.]

[Footnote 22: _Midsummer Night's Dream_, III. i.]

"... besides the groves,
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder." [23]

[Footnote 23: _Midsummer Night's Dream_, IV.]

And how the noble animal took soil in the Coln,

"Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
To the which place our poor sequester'd stag
Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.

Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
''Tis right,' quoth he: 'thus misery doth part
The flux of company': anon a careless herd,
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him. 'Ah,' quoth Jaques,
'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'" [24]

[Footnote 24: _As You Like It_, II. i.]

And finally he told how the gallant beast died a soldier's death,
fighting to the bitter end.

"Marry, 'twas a right good chase, and bravely must thy steed have borne
thee. But thou wast too venturesome, Master Shakespeare," exclaimed the
squire, "a-trying to jump that mound into the tyning by Master
Blackett's house."

"Tell me, I prithee," a