Classic Poem

Methinks (cold fear) bids me bide
In thickest tufts of coverts close, and so myself to hide.
Ah, rueful remedy so that I (as it were)
Even tear my life out of the teeth of hounds, which make me fear,
And from those cruel curs and brain-sick bawling tykes,
Which do foot out to follow me both over hedge and dykes.