The Squabble (First Edition) - 6
Would fainly tear my Flock I much suspect.
CORIN.
Say not, O Thyrsis, they e’er touch’d thy Fold!
Some savage Whelps that neighb’ring Forests hold,
Beset thy mangy Flock, with manners rude,
(And gorg’d with hellish rage their reeking blood.)
Not one of all this Sable Herd is gone,
Excepting those thy Mastiffs seiz’d upon:
And Innocent are those that yet remain,
As eke were they whom thy curs’d Dogs have slain.
THYRSIS.
Corin, my polish’d Grook with thee I’ll lay
Those were your Wolves, that did three Lambkins slay
Of mine, besides three Ewes, and Ram also,
And yet you’d swear me out they’re not our Foe.
Here Thyrsis blusters and looks big.
By all the Pow’rs I’ll rouze my Dogs with speed,
And make your murd’ring tawny Troop to bleed.
Halloo, my Mastiffs, join the gallant Chace,
And extirpate from earth this Savage Race.
Here Corin adopts the opinion of Old Falstaff, thinking “the
better part of valour is discretion.” He determines to com-
promise the matter with Thyrsis.
