C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Song: ‘Down lay in a nook my lady’s brach’

DOWN lay in a nook my lady’s brach,

And said, “My feet are sore,—

I cannot follow with the pack

A-hunting of the boar.

“And though the horn sounds never so clear

With the hounds in loud uproar,

Yet I must stop and lie down here,

Because my feet are sore.”

The huntsman when he heard the same,

What answer did he give?—

“The dog that’s lame is much to blame,

He is not fit to live.”