We spent the weekend in the company, inter alia, of four beagles. I rather liked them, actually: they were good-natured beasts, cheerful and easy-going. One of them did betray a serious Jones for artisan bread: he broke into Mrs. B’s suitcase and gobbled up a half a loaf we were counting on for breakfast. In the end, I think he suffered more than we did, and it wasn’t a big deal.
But they did holler. Man, did they ever holler. I suppose like this:
Theseus. Go, one of you, find out the forester
For now our observation is perform'd;
And since we have the vaward of the day,
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. 1660
Uncouple in the western valley; let them go:
Dispatch, I say, and find the forester.
[Exit an Attendant]
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top,
And mark the musical confusion 1665
Of hounds and echo in conjunction
Hippolyta. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once,
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear
Such gallant chiding: for, besides the groves, 1670
The skies, the fountains, every region near
Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
Theseus. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung 1675
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 1680
In Crete, in
Judge when you hear. …
Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act IV Scene 1
