Then was it very heaven to hearken the hounds,
When the mute all met him, mingled together:
Such a sorrow at sight of him they set on his head
As if clustering cliffs had clatter’d on heaps;
Here he was hollo’ed when hunters him met,
Or grimly was greeted with growling speech:
There he was threaten’d and “thief” call’d often,
And ay the teasers at his tail, that tarry he might not;
Oft he was harried when he hied for the open,
Oft he reel’d in again, Reynard so wily;
And hunters ay sped them, splash’d and bespatter’d,
In this manner by the mounts, till midmorn was past,
While the athel at home lay wholesomely sleeping
Within comely curtains, on that cóld mòrning.
But the lady for Love let him not sleep,
Never ’paired the purpose or pine in her heart,
But in haste she was up and hied to his chamber,
In a merry mantle, meet to the ground,
That was furr’d full fine with fells well-trimm’d,
And no hues on her head but the athel stones
Twined on her tressure by twenties in clusters;
Her thriv’n face so fair and her throat were unveil’d,
Her breast and her back the bodice show’d bare.
She comes within door, and closes it after,
Waives up a window, and on the wíght càlls,
And pleasantly rallies him with a ready word
and cheer:
“Ah! Sir, how mayst thou sleep
On such a morning clear?”
He was in dreamland deep
But then he did her hear.