Chapter 48 No.48

However, at sunrise our company mustered;

And here was the huntsman bidding unkennel,

And there 'neath his bonnet the pricker blustered,

With feather dank as a bough of wet fennel;335

For the courtyard walls were filled with fog

You might have cut as an ax chops a log-

Like so much wool for color and bulkiness;

And out rode the