SQUIRREL HUNTING. Only the curled streams soft chidings kept, And little gales, that from the green leaf swept BROWNE. IN THE FOREST. HEN shaws been sheene, and shruddes full fayre, It's merry walking in the fayre forest, The woodweele sange, and wold not cease, Sitting upon the spraye, So lowde, he wakened Robin Hood, In the greenwood where he laye. Old Ballad. SQUIRREL HUNTING. NIMBLE squirrel from the wood, Ranging the hedges for his filbert food, Sits partly on a bough his brown nuts cracking, To share with him, come with so great a noise That he is forced to leave a nut nigh broke, 221 Thence to a beech, thence to a row of ashes; Got through the briers-and that hath lost his shoe; With sticks and stones, and many a sounding hollow |