Chapter 130 No.130

590 "The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,

Ever sing merrily, merrily;

The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,

Hunters live so cheerily.

"It was a stag, a stag of ten,note

595 Bearing its branches sturdily;

He came stately down the glen,

Ever sing hardily, hardily.

"It was there he met with a wounded doe,

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