Betwixt two ridges of plowed land sat^[1] Wat, 
Whose body, pressed to th’earth, lay close and squat^[2].
His nose upon his two fore-feet close lies^[3],
Glaring obliquely with his great grey eyes^[4].
His head he always sets^[5] against the wind;                            5 
If turn his tail, his hairs blow up behind^[6]
And make him to get cold, but he, being wise^[7],
Doth keep^[8] his coat still down, so warm he lies. 
Thus rests he^[9] all the day till th’sun^[10] doth set; 
Then up he riseth^[11], his relief^[12] to get,                                    10 
Walking about^[13] until the sun doth rise, 
Then coming back in’s former posture lies^[14].
At last, poor Wat was found, as he there lay, 
By huntsmen which came with their dogs that way^[15].
Whom seeing, he got up, and fast did run^[16],                         15 
Hoping some ways the cruel dogs to shun. 
But they by nature have^[17] so quick a scent, 
That by their nose they traced^[18] what way he went, 
And with their deep, wide mouths set forth a cry, 
Which answered was by echoes^[19] in the sky.                        20 
Then Wat was struck with terror and with fear, 
Seeing each shadow, thought the dogs were there^[20],
And running out some distance from their cry^[21],
To hide himself his thoughts he did employ^[22].
Under a clod of earth in sand-pit wide                                    25 
Poor Wat sat close, hoping himself to hide. 
There long he had not been^[23], but straight in’s^[24] ears 
The winding horns and crying dogs he hears. 
Then starting up^[25] with fear, he leap’d, and such^[26]
Swift speed he made, the ground he scarce did touch^[27].    30 
Into a great thick wood straight ways he got^[28],
And^[29] underneath a broken bough he sat^[30],
Where^[31] every leaf that with the wind did shake 
Did bring^[32] such terror, that his heart did^[33]  ache. 
That place he left; to champaign plains he went,                 35 
Winding about for to deceive their scent, 
And while they snuffling were to find his track, 
Poor Wat, being weary, his swift pace did slack. 
On his two hinder legs for ease he sat^[34];
His fore-feet rubbed his face from dust and sweat.             40 
Licking his feet, he wiped his ears so clean 
That none could tell that Wat had hunted been. 
But casting round about his fair grey^[35] eyes, 
The hounds in full career he near him spies. 
To Wat it was so terrible a sight                                               45 
Fear gave him wings, and made his body light: 
Though weary was^[36] before, by running long, 
Yet now his breath he never felt more strong, 
Like those that dying are, think health returns, 
When ’tis but a faint blast, which life out burns,                  50 
For spirits seek to guard the heart about, 
Striving with Death, but Death doth quench them out. 
The hounds^[37] so fast came on, and with such cry^[38],
That he no hopes had^[39] left, nor help could ’spy^[40].
With that, the winds did pity poor Wat’s case,                      55 
And with their breath the scent blew from that^[41] place; 
Then every^[42] nose was^[43] busily employed, 
And every nostril was^[44] set open wide, 
And every head did^[45] seek a several way 
To find the^[46] grass or track where the scent^[47] lay.                60 
For witty industry is never slack^[48];
’Tis like to witchcraft, and^[49] brings lost things back. 
But^[50] though the wind had tied the scent up close, 
A busy dog thrust in his snuffling nose 
And drew it out, with it^[51] did foremost run;                          65 
Then horns blew loud, for th’rest^[52] to follow on. 
The great slow-hounds, their throats did set a base; 
The fleet swift hounds, as tenors next in place; 
The little beagles did^[53] a trebble sing, 
And through the air their voices^[54] round did ring^[55],          70 
Which made such^[56] consort as they ran along, 
That, had they spoken words, ’t had been a song^[57].
The horns kept time; the men did^[58] shout for joy, 
And seemed most valiant^[59], poor Wat to^[60] destroy, 
Spurring their horses to a full career,                                     75 
Swam^[61] rivers deep, leaped^[62] ditches without fear, 
Endangered^[63] life and limbs, so fast they’d^[64] ride, 
Only to see how patiently Wat died. 
At last^[65] the dogs so near his heels did get, 
That they^[66] their sharp teeth in^[67] his breech did set.           80 
Then tumbling down he fell^[68], with weeping eyes 
Gave^[69] up his ghost, and thus, poor Wat, he dies. 
Men, hooping loud, such acclamations made^[70]
As if the Devil they imprisoned had^[71],
When they did but^[72] a shiftless creature kill;                        85 
To hunt there needs no valiant soldier’s skill. 
But men do^[73] think that exercise and toil, 
To keep their health, is best which makes most spoil, 
Thinking that food and nourishment so good 
Which doth proceed from others’^[74] flesh and blood.           90 
When they do lions, wolves, bears, tigers see 
To kill poor^[75] sheep, they say^[76] they cruel be, 
But for themselves, all creatures think too few, 
For luxury, wish God would make more^[77] new, 
As if God did make^[78] creatures for man’s meat,                    95 
To give^[79] them life and sense, for man to eat, 
Or else for sport or recreation’s sake, 
Destroy^[80] those lives that God saw good to^[81] make, 
Making their stomachs graves, which full they fill 
With murthered bodies, which^[82] in sport they kill.              100 
Yet man doth think himself so gentle, mild^[83],
When of all creatures he’s most cruel, wild^[84],
And is so proud, thinks only he shall live^[85],
That God a godlike nature did him^[86] give, 
And that all creatures for his sake alone                                 105 
Were made^[87], for him to tyrannize upon.

Source:

“The Hunting of the Hare” edited by Liza Blake from Margaret Cavendish’s Poems and Fancies licensed by CC BY-NC