Classic Poem

The master Hunt, anon, foot-hot,
With his horn blew three mote
At the uncoupling of his houndis;
Within a while the hart found is,
Y-halloaed, and rechased fast
Long time, and so, at the last,
This hart roused and stole away
From all the hounds a privy way.
The hounds had overshot him all,
And were upon a default y-fall,
Therewith the Hunt wonder fast
Blew a forlorn at the last;
I was go walked from my tree,
And, as I went, there came by me
A whelp, that fawned me as I stood,
That had y-followed, and could no good;
It came and crept to me as low
Right as it had me y-know,
Held down his head, and joined his ears,
And laid all smooth down his hairs:
I would have caught it anon,
It fled, and was from me gone.