A col-fox, 4366 full of sly iniquity, That in the grove had wonned 4367 yearës three, By high imaginatión forecast, The samë night thorough the hedges brast 4368 Into the yard, where Chanticleer the fair And in a bed of wortës 4369 still he lay, Till it was passed undern 4370 of the day, Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall: As gladly do these homicidës all, That in awaitë lie to murder men. O falsë murd’rer! Rouking 4371 in thy den! O new Iscariot, new Ganilion! 4372