With greater ease than others seek their bed. Not more aghast the matrons of renown, When tyrant Nero burned the imperial town, Shrieked for the downfal in a doleful cry, For which their guiltless lords were doomed to die. Now to my story I return again: The trembling widow, and her daughters twain, This woful cackling cry with horror heard, Of those distracted damsels in the yard; And starting up, beheld the heavy sight, How Reynard to the forest took his flight, And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, The hope and pillar of the house was borne. The fox, the wicked fox, was all the cry; Out from his house ran every neighbour nigh: The vicar first, and after him the crew, With forks and staves the felon to pursue. Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band, And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand: Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs, In panic horror of pursuing dogs; With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak, Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break. The shouts of men, the women in dismay, With shrieks augment the terror of the day. The ducks, that heard the proclamation cried, And feared a persecution might betide, Full twenty mile from town their voyage take, Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake. The geese fly o'er the barn; the bees, in arms, Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms. Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout, Struck not the city with so loud a shout; Not when with English hate they did pursue A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew;[191] Not when the welkin rung with _one and all_, } And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall; } Earth seemed to sink beneath, and heaven above to fall. } With might and main they chaced the murd'rous fox, With brazen trumpets, and inflated box, To kindle Mars with military sounds, Nor wanted horns to inspire sagacious hounds. But see how fortune can confound the wise, And when they least expect it, turn the dice. The captive-cock, who scarce could draw his breath, And lay within the very jaws of death; Yet in this agony his fancy wrought, And fear supplied him with this happy thought: Your's is the prize, victorious prince, said he, The vicar my defeat, and all the village see.[192] Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, And bid the churls that envy you the prey Call back their mongrel curs, and cease their cry: } See fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, } And Chanticleer in your despite shall die; } He shall be plucked and eaten to the bone.-- 'Tis well advised, in faith it shall be done; This Reynard said: but as the word he spoke, The prisoner with a spring from prison broke; Then stretched his feathered fans with all his might, And to the neighbouring maple winged his flight. Whom, when the traitor safe on tree beheld, He cursed the gods, with shame and sorrow filled: