The throstle, with shrill sharps; as purposely he song
T' awake the listless sun; or chiding, that so long
He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill;
The ouzel near at hand, that hath a golden bill,

As nature him had markt of purpose, t' let us see

That from all other birds his tunes should different be: For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May;

Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play.
When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by,
In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply,

As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw.
And, but that Nature (by her all-constraining law)
Each bird to her own kind this season doth invite,

They else alone to hear that charmer of the night,

(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare,

That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare,

As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her.

To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer ;

And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, The red-sparrow, the nope, the red-breast, and the wren. The yellow-pate; which though she hurt the blooming tree, Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she.

And of these chaunting fowls, the goldfinch not behind,

That hath so many sorts descending from her kind.

The tydy for her notes as delicate as they,

The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay.

The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves,
Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves)
Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun,
Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run,
And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps
To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.
And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds,
Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds,
Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of seasoned deer:
Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there:
The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd,
As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude.

Of all the beasts which we for our venerial name,
The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game:
Of which most princely chase sith none did e'er report,
Or by description touch, t' express that wondrous sport
(Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs)

To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs :

The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head,

Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds
The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds,
Where harbour'd is the hart; there often from his feed

The dogs of him do find; or thorough skilful heed,
The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceives,
Or ent'ring of the thick by pressing of the greaves,

Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear
The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret lair,

He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive,
As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive.
And through the cumb'rous thicks, as fearfully he makes,
He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes,
That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep;
When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep,
That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place
And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase.
Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers,
Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears,
His body showing state, with unbent knees upright,
Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight.
But when th' approaching foes still following he perceives,
That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves:
And o'er the champain flies; which when the assembly find,
Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind.
But being then imbost, the noble stately deer

When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear)

Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soil;
That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil,

And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag-wool'd sheep,
Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep.
But when as all his shifts his safety still denies,

Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries;
Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand,
Tassail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand,
The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hallow:
When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow;
Until the noble deer, through toil bereav'd of strength,
His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length,
The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way
To anything he meets now at his sad decay.

The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near,
This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear,
Some bank or quickset finds; to which his haunch opposed,
He turns upon his foes, that soon have him inclosed.
The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay,
And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay,
With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds.
The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds,

He desperately assails; until opprest by force,

He who the mourner is to his own dying corse,
Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall
To forests that belongs.