Reading A Midsommer Nights Dreame [A Midsummer Night's Dream]

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Thes.

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kinde,

So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung

With eares that sweepe away the morning dew,

Crooke kneed, and dew‑lapt, like Thessalian Buls,

Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bels,

Each vnder each. A cry more tuneable

Was neuer hallowed to, nor cheer'd with horne,

In Creete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly;

Iudge when you heare. But soft, what nimphs are these?

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