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Away, away, in wild dismay,

He flew with all his might;

And his joy was vast, when he reached at last

A warren in his flight.

But ere he stole into his hole,

Secure from further fear,

A comrade, who spied the trembler, cried,

"What is amiss, my dear?"

"What is amiss? Why, simply this,"

He answered with panting breath,

"Those Greyhounds,—see?—have been chasing me,

Till I'm nearly run to death."

"Where, where?—But hark! I hear the bark

Of dogs upon your track;

But in faith you err, for there's not, good sir,

A Greyhound in the pack."

"Not a Greyhound?"—"No, for really, though

The difference is but small,

I see them now, and the Dogs, I vow,

Are Beagles, one and all."

"What! Beagles? Pshaw! the Dogs that I saw

Were Greyhounds, I'll be bail;