LXXVI
Let him lie in that lee, (and love him betide!) While the lord is on laund, leading the chase. The fox he has kill’d that so far he follow’d; As he sprang o’er a spinney the shrew to espy, Where he heard the hounds that hustled him on, Reynard came running through a ruggèd clough, With the rabble in a race right at his heels; The wight was ware of him, and warily bode, Drew a bright brand, and drove at the beast, Who swerv’d from the sword and away would have swung, But a hound was át him or ever he might, And before the foal’s feet the pack on him fell And worried me that wily with a wróth clàmour. Then alighted the lord, and leaping to seize him, Rescued poor Reynard from ravening jaws, And held him o’erhead, hollo’ing loudly, While the barking pack full bravely him bay’d; The huntsmen hied them with horns a many, Sounding recall till they sighted the quarry. Soon as were come that company noble, All that bugle e’er bore, blew them together, And the others hollo’ed that no hórns hàd; ’Twas the merriest music that man ever heard, The rich dirge that was rais’d for Reynard his soul; All’s done! Hunters their hounds reward Fawning their heads, each one; And then they take Reynàrd And strip his coat anon.