46271His eares vp prickt, his braided hanging mane
272Vpon his compa
st cre
st now
stand on end,
273His no
strils drinke the aire, and forth againe
274As from a fornace, vapors doth he
send:
275 His eye which
scornfully gli
sters like
fire,
276 Shewes his hote courage, and his high de
sire.
47277Sometime he trots, as if he told the
steps,
278With gentle maie
stie, and mode
st pride,
279Anon he reres vpright, curuets, and leaps,
280As who
should
say, lo thus my
strength is tride.
281 And this I do, to captiuate the eye,
282 Of the faire breeder that is
standing by.
48283What recketh he his riders angrie
sturre,
284His
flattering holla, or his
stand, I
say,
285What cares he now, for curbe, or pricking
spurre,
286For rich capari
sons, or trappings gay:
287 He
sees his loue, and nothing el
se he
sees,
288 For nothing el
se with his proud
sight agrees.
49289Looke when a Painter would
surpa
sse the life,
290In limming out a well proportioned
steed,
291His Art with Natures workman
ship at
strife,
292As if the dead the liuing
should exceed:
293 So did this Hor
se excell a common one,
294 In
shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.
50295Round hooft,
short ioynted, fetlocks
shag, and long,
296Broad brea
st, full eye,
small head, and no
strill wide,
297High cre
st,
short eares,
straight legs, & pa
ssing
strōg,
298Thin mane, thicke taile, broad buttock, tender hide:
299 Looke what a Hor
se
should haue, he did not lack,
300 Saue a proud rider on
so proud a back.