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Section 432
Passage 1 of 2 · section 432 of 605
1Thes.
2My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kinde,
3So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung
4With eares that sweepe away the morning dew,
5Crooke kneed, and dew‑lapt, like Thessalian Buls,
6Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bels,
7Each vnder each. A cry more tuneable
8Was neuer hallowed to, nor cheer'd with horne,