Then he told how, after leaving behind the deep undrained grass country round Moreton-in-the-Marsh, they rose the hills by Stow and came across the moor.  How the riders who spurred their horses up the steep uprising ascent were soon left behind.  For

               “To climb steep hills
     Requires slow pace at first; anger is like
     A full hot horse, who, being allowed his way,
     Self mettle tires him.”

He told how, after an hour’s steady running over the wolds, a “let” [18] occurred, and “the hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt";[19] how Mountain, Fury, Tyrant, and Ringwood, who had been leading the rest of the pack, strove in vain for a considerable time to pick out the cold scent, until suddenly the cheery sound of the old huntsman’s voice was heard crying: 

[Footnote 18:  Two Noble Kinsmen, III. v.]

[Footnote 19:  Venus and Adonis, 692.]

“Fury!  Fury!  There, Tyrant, there!  Hark!  Hark!” [20]

and the whole pack went “yoppeting” off as happy as the hunt was long.  He told how Belman fairly surpassed himself, and “twice to-day picked out the dullest scent";[21] and how little Dobbin, the Irish hobby, went cantering on “as true as truest horse, that yet would never tire.” [22] He told how, after running from scent to view, they came down into the woodlands of the valley of the Coln, and awoke the echoes with their “gallant chiding.”

[Footnote 20:  Tempest, IV, i.]

[Footnote 21:  Taming of the Shrew, Introduction.]

[Footnote 22:  Midsummer Night’s Dream, III. i.]

                       “... besides the groves,
     The skies, the fountains, every region near
     Seem’d all one mutual cry:  I never heard
     So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.” [23]

[Footnote 23:  Midsummer Night’s Dream, IV.]

And how the noble animal took soil in the Coln,

“Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: 
To the which place our poor sequester’d stag
Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord,
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase.

      Left and abandon’d of his velvet friends,
      ‘’Tis right,’ quoth he:  ’thus misery doth part
      The flux of company’:  anon a careless herd,
      Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
      And never stays to greet him.  ‘Ah,’ quoth Jaques,
      ’Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
      ’Tis just the fashion:  wherefore do you look
      Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?’” [24]

[Footnote 24:  As You Like It, II. i.]

And finally he told how the gallant beast died a soldier’s death, fighting to the bitter end.