- 88 THE BOYS’ BROWNING.

Legs, arms, ribs, all of him looked like a toast
In a tumbler of port wine soaken.

“That your life is left you, thank the stag!”
Said they when — the slow cure ended —
They opened the hospital door, and thence
— Strapped, spliced, main fractures mended,

And minor damage left wisely alone, —
Like an-old shoe clouted and cobbled,
Out — what went in a Goliath wellnigh, —

Some half of a David hobbled.

“You must ask an alms from house to house:
Sell the stag’s head for a bracket,
With its grand twelve tines — I'd buy it myself —
And use the skin for a jacket!”

He was wiser, made both head and hide
His win-penny : hands and knees on,
Would manage to crawl — poor crab — by

the roads
In the misty stalking season.

And if he discovered a bothy like this,
Why, harvest was sure: folk listened.
He told his tale to the lovers of Sport :
Lips twitched, cheeks glowed, eyes glistened.