As strength will be whene'er by craft 'tis ruled.
Into the cleft he thrust his greedy maw
Up to the ears, and either foremost paw.
Reynard drew near, and tugging might and main
Pulled forth the wedge, and the trunk closed again.
By head and foot was Bruin firmly caught,
Nor threats nor flatt'ry could avail him aught.
He howled, he raved, he struggled, and he tore,
Till the whole place reechoed with his roar,
And Goodman Joiner, wakened by the rout,
Jumped up, much wond'ring what 'twas all about.
He seized his ax, that he might be prepared,
And danger, if it came, might find him on his guard.

Still howled the Bear, and struggled to get free

From the accursed grip of that cleft tree.

He strove and strained, but strained and strove in vain;

His mightiest efforts but increased his pain;

He thought he never should get loose again.
And Reynard thought the same, for his own part,
And wished it, too, devoutly from his heart.
And as the joiner coming he espied,
Armed with his ax, the jesting ruffian cried:

Uncle, what cheer? Is th' honey to your taste?
Don't eat too quick; there's no such need of haste.
The joiner's coming, and I make no question,
He brings you your dessert, to help digestion."

Then, deeming 'twas not longer safe to stay,
To Malepartus back he took his way.

The joiner, when he came and saw the Bear, Off to the ale-house did with speed repair, Where oft the villagers would sit and swill; There a good many sat carousing still.

"Neighbors," quoth he, "be quick! In my courtyard
A Bear is trapped! Come, and come well prepared.
I vow 'tis true." Up started every man,
And pell-mell, helter-skelter off they ran,
Seizing whatever handiest they could take,
A pitchfork one, another grasps a rake,
A third a flail; and armed was ev'ry one
With some chance weapon, stick or stake or stone.
The priest and sacristan both joined the throng,
One with a mattock, t'other with a prong.
The parson's maid came, too, Judith her name,
And fair was she of face and fair of fame.
(His Rev'rence could not live without her aid;
She cooked his victuals, and she warmed his bed.)
She brought the distaff she had used all day,
With which she hoped the luckless Bear to pay.
Bruin with terror heard th' approaching roar,
And with fresh desperation tugged and tore.
His head he thus got free from out the cleft;
But hide and hair, alack! behind he left;
While from the hideous wound the crimson blood
Adown his breast in copious currents flow'd.
Was never seen so pitiable a beast!

It holp him naught his head to have released!
His feet still being fastened in the tree,
These with one more huge effort he set free.
But than his head no better fared his paws,
For he rent off alike the skin and claws.
This was, in sooth, a different sort of treat
From what he had expected there to meet.
He wished to Heav'n he ne'er had ventured there;
It was a most unfortunate affair!

Bleeding upon the ground he could but sprawl,
For he could neither stand nor walk nor crawl.
The joiner now came up with all his crew;
To the attack with eager souls they flew:
With thwacks and thumps belaboring the poor wight,
They hoped to slay him on the spot outright.
The priest kept poking at him with his prong,
From afar off-the handle being long.
Bruin in anguish rolled and writhed about;
Each howl of his called forth an answering shout.
On every side his furious foemen swarmed,
With spits and spades, with hoes and hatchets armed;
Weapons all wielded, too, by nerves of pith.
His large sledge-hammer bore the sinewy smith.
They struck, they yelled, they pelted, and they hallooed,
While in a pool of filth poor Bruin wallowed.

To name these heroes were too long by half:
There was the long-nosed Jem, the bandy Ralph;
These were the worst; but crooked-fingered Jack,
With his flail fetched him many a grievous thwack.
His stepbrother, hight Cuckelson the Fat,
Stood, but aloof, with an enormous bat.
Dame Judith was not idle with her distaff,
While Gaffer Grumble stirred him with his staff;
And men and women many more were there,
All vowing vengeance 'gainst th' unhappy Bear.
The foremost-in the noise-was Cuckelson;
He boasted that he was Dame Gertrude's son;
And all the world believed that this was true,
But who his father no one ever knew.
Fame, indeed, said but fame is such a liar-
That Brother Joseph, the Franciscan friar,

Might, if he chose, claim the paternity,

Or share the same with others, it might be.

Now stones and brickbats from all sides were shower'd,

And Bruin, tho' he scorned to die a coward,
Was by opposing numbers all but overpower'd.
The joiner's brother then, whose name was Scrub,
Whirling around his head a massive club,
Rushed in the midst, with execrations horrid,
And dealt the Bear a blow, plump on the forehead.
That blow was struck with such tremendous might,
Bruin lost both his hearing and his sight.
One desp'rate plunge he made, though, and, as luck
Would have it, 'mong the women ran amuck.

Ye saints! how they did scream and shriek and squall!
Over each other how they tumbled all!

And some fell in the stream that ran hard by,
And it was deep just there, unluckily.

The pastor cried aloud, "Look, neighbors, look!
See, yonder, in the water, Jude, my cook,
With all her wool-she's left her distaff here!
Help! Save her! You shall have a cask of beer,
As well as absolution for past crimes,
And full indulgence for all future times!"

Fired with the promised boon, they left the Bear,
Who lay half dead, all stunned and stupid there;
Plunged to the women's rescue, fished out five-
All that had fallen in, and all alive.

The miserable Bear, while thus his foes
Were busied, finding respite from their blows,
Managed to scramble to the river's brim;
Then in he rolled but not with hopes to swim,
For life a very burden was to him.

Those shameful blows no more could he abide;
They pierced his soul more than they pained his hide.
He wished to end his days in that deep water,
Nor feared t' incur the perils of self-slaughter.
But no! against his will he floated down;
It seemed, in truth, he was not born to drown.
Now when the Bear's escape the men descried,
"Oh, shame, insufferable shame!" they cried;
Then in a rage began to 'rate the women:
"See where the Bear away from us is swimming!
Had you but stayed at home-your proper place-
We should not have encountered this disgrace."
Then to the cleft tree turning, they found there
The bleeding strips of Bruin's hide and hair.
At this into loud laughter they broke out,
And after him thus sent a jeering shout:
"You'll sure come back again, old Devil-spawn,
As you have left your wig and gloves in pawn."
Thus insult added they to injury,
And Bruin heard them, and sore hurt was he.
He cursed them all, and his own wretched fate;
He cursed the honey that had been his bait;
He cursed the Fox who led him in the snare;
He even cursed the king who sent him there.

Such were his prayers as quick he swept along, For the stream bore him onward, swift and strong. So, without effort, in a little while

He floated down the river near a mile;

Then with a heavy heart he crawled on shore,

For he was wet and weary, sick and sore.

The sun throughout his course would never see
A beast in such a shocking plight as he.