Chapter 191 LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN

665 "My hawk is tired of perch and hood,

My idle greyhound loathes his food,

My horse is weary of his stall,

And I am sick of captive thrall.

I wish I were as I have been,

670 Hunting the hart in forest green,

With bended bow and bloodhound free,

For that's the life is meet for me.

"I hate to learn the ebb of time,

From y