Till, tir'd at last, despoil'd of all his strength,
The game
athwart the stream unfolds his length.
He now, with pleasure, views the gasping prize
Gnash his sharp teeth, and roll his blood-fhot eyes;
Then draws him to the fhore, with artful care,
And lifts his noftrils in the fickening air:
Upon the burthen'd ftream he floating lies,
Stretches his quivering fins, and gafping dies.
Would you preferve a numerous finny race;
Let your fierce dogs the ravenous otter chase
(Th' amphibious monster ranges all the shores,
Darts through the waves, and every haunt explores): Or let the gin his roving fteps betray,
And fave from hoftile jaws the scaly prey.
I never wander where the bordering reeds
O'erlook the muddy ftream, whose tangling weeds 260
Perplex the fisher; I nor choose to bear
The thievith nightly net, nor barbed spear;
Nor drain I ponds, the golden carp to take,
Nor troll for pikes, difpeoplers of the lake ;
Around the fteel no tortur'd worm fhall twine,
No blood of living infect ftain my line.
Let me, lefs cruel, caft the feather'd hook
With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook,
Silent along the mazy margin ftray,
And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey.
NOW, fporting Mufe, draw in the flowing reins,
Leave the clear streams awhile for funny plains.
Should
you
the various arms and toils rehearse,
And all the fisherman adorn thy verse;
Should you the wide encircling net display,
And in its fpacious arch inclose the sea
Then haul the plunging load upon the land,
And with the foal and turbot hide the fand;
It would extend the growing theme too long,
And tire the reader with the watery fong.
Let the keen hunter from the chace refrain,
Nor render all the ploughman's labour vain,
When Ceres pours out plenty from her horn,
And clothes the fields with golden ears of corn.
Now, now, ye reapers, to your task repair,
Hafte! fave the product of the bounteous year:
To the wide-gathering hook long furrows yield,
And rifing fheaves extend through all the field.
Yet, if for fylvan sports thy bosom glow,
Let thy fleet greyhound urge his flying foe..
With what delight the rapid courfe I view !
How does my eye the circling race pursue !
He snaps deceitful air with empty jaws;
The fubtle hare darts swift beneath his paws;
She flies, he ftretches, now with nimble bound 295 Eager he preffes on, but overshoots his ground;
She turns, he winds, and foon regains the
Then tears with gory mouth the screaming prey.
What various fport does rural life afford!
What unbought dainties heap the wholefome board! 300
Nor lefs the spaniel, fkilful to betray,
Rewards the fowler with the feather'd prey.
Soon as the labouring horfe, with fwelling veins,
Hath fafely hous'd the farmer's doubtful gains,
To fweet repaft th' unwary partridge flies,
With joy amid the fcatter'd harveft lies;
Wandering in plenty, danger he forgets,
Nor dreads the flavery of entangling nets.
The fubtle dog fcours with fagacious nofe
Along the field, and fnuffs each breeze that blows; 310
Against the wind he takes his prudent way,
While the ftrong gale directs him to the prey;
Now the warm fcent affures the covey near,
He treads with caution, and he points with fear;
Then (left fome fentry-fowl the fraud defcry,
And bid his fellows from the danger fly)
Clofe to the ground in expectation lies,
Till in the fnare the fluttering covey rife.
Soon as the blushing light begins to spread,
And glancing Phoebus gilds the mountain's head, 320
His early flight th' ill-fated partridge takes,
And quits the friendly fhelter of the brakes.
Or, when the fun cafts a declining ray,
And drives his chariot down the western way,
Let your obfequious ranger fearch around,
Where yellow ftubble withers on the ground:
Nor will the roving spy direct in vain,
But numerous coveys gratify thy pain.
When the meridian fun contracts the shade,
And frisking heifers feek the cooling glade ;
Or when the country floats with fudden rains,
Or driving mists deface the moiften'd plains ;
In vain his toils th' unskilful fowler tries,
While in thick woods the feeding partridge lies.
Nor muft the sporting verfe the gun forbear,
But what's the Fowler's be the Muses' care.
See how the well-taught pointer leads the way:
The scent grows warm; he ftops; he fprings the prey;
The fluttering coveys from the ftubble rise,
And on swift wing divide the founding skies
The scattering lead pursues the certain fight,
And death in thunder overtakes their flight.
Cool breathes the morning air, and Winter's hand
Spreads wide her hoary mantle o'er the land;
Now to the copfe thy leffer spaniel take,
Teach him to range the ditch, and force the brake;
Not closest coverts can protect the game :
Hark! the dog opens; take thy certain aim.
The woodcock flutters: how he wavering flies!
The wood refounds: he wheels, he drops, he dies. 350
The towering hawk let future poets fing,
Who terror bears upon his foaring wing:
Let them on high the frighted hern furvey,
And lofty numbers paint their airy fray.
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