THE HORSE

Is a creature made, as it were, in wax.  When Nature first framed him, she took a secret complacence in her work.  He is even her masterpiece in irrational things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him forth.  For example, his slick bay coat he took from the chestnut; his neck from the rainbow, which perhaps make him rain so well.  His mane belike he took from Pegasus, making him a hobby to make this a complete jennet, which mane he wears so curled, much after the women’s fashions now-a-days;—­this I am sure of, howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it sets forth our jennet well.  His legs he borrowed of the hart, with his swiftness, which makes him a true courser indeed.  The stars in his forehead he fetched from heaven, which will not be much missed, there being so many.  The little head he hath, broad breast, fat buttock, and thick tail are properly his own, for he knew not where to get him better.  If you tell him of the horns he wants to make him most complete, he scorns the motion, and sets them at his heel.  He is well shod, especially in the upper leather, for as for his soles, they are much at reparation, and often fain to be removed.  Nature seems to have spent an apprenticeship of years to make you such a one, for it is full seven years ere he comes to this perfection, and be fit for the saddle:  for then (as we), it seems to come to the years of discretion, when he will show a kind of rational judgment with him, and if you set an expert rider on his back, you shall see how sensible they will talk together, as master and scholar.  When he shall be no sooner mounted and planted in the seat, with the reins in one hand, a switch in the other, and speaking with his spurs in the horse’s flanks, a language he well understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance the canaries half an hour together in compass of a bushel, and yet still, as he thinks, get some ground, shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely pride.  This will our Bucephalus do in the lists:  but when he comes abroad into the fields, he will play the country gentleman as truly, as before the knight in tournament.  If the game be up once, and the hounds in chase, you shall see how he will prick up his ears straight, and tickle at the sport as much as his rider shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be many of them, they will even drown the rural harmony of the dogs.  When he travels, of all inns he loves best the sign of the silver bell, because likely there he fares best, especially if he come the first and get the prize.  He carries his ears upright, nor seldom ever lets them fall till they be cropped off, and after that, as in despite, will never wear them more.  His tail is so essential to him, that if he lose it once he is no longer a horse, but ever styled a curtali.  To conclude, he is a blade of Vulcan’s forging, made for Mars of the best metal, and the post of Fame to carry her tidings through the world, who, if he knew his own strength, would shrewdly put for the monarchy of our wilderness.