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These are expensive joys, fit for the great,
Of large domains possess'd: enough for me
To boast the gentle spar-hawk on my fist,
Or fly the partridge from the bristly field,
Retrieve the covey with my busy train,
Or with my soaring hobby dare the lark.
But if the shady woods my cares employ
In quest of feather'd game, my spaniels beat
Puzzling th' entangled copse, and from the brake
Push forth the whirring pheasant; high in air
He waves his vary'd plumes, stretching away
With hasty wing. Soon from th' uplifted tube
The mimic thunder bursts, the leaden death
O'ertakes him, and with many a giddy whirl
To earth he falls, and at my feet expires.

When autumn smiles, all beauteous in decay, And paints each chequer'd grove with various hues, My setter ranges in the new-shorn fields,

His nose in air erect; from ridge to ridge
Panting he bounds, his quarter'd ground divides
In equal intervals, nor careless leaves
One inch untry'd. At length the tainted gales
His nostrils wide inhale; quick joy elates
His beating heart, which, aw'd by discipline
Severe, he dares not own, but cautious creeps
Low-cow'ring, step by step; at last attains
His proper distance; there he stops at once,
And points with his instructive nose upon
The trembling prey. On wings of wind upborne

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The floating net unfolded flies, then drops,
And the poor flutt'ring captives rise in vain.

Or haply on some river's cooling bank,
Patiently musing, all intent I stand
To hook the scaly glutton. See! down sinks
My cork, that faithful monitor; his weight
My taper angle bends; surpriz'd, amaz'd,
He glitters in the sun, and, struggling, pants
For liberty, till in the purer air

He breathes no more.
And sweet amusements; such each busy drudge
Envious must wish, and all the wise enjoy.

Such are our pleasing cares

Thus, most illustrious Prince! have I presum'd,

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In my obscure sojourn, to sing at ease
Rural delights, the joy and sweet repast
Of ev'ry noble mind; and now perchance
Untimely sing, since from yon neighb'ring shore
The grumbling thunder rolls, calm Peace alarm'd
Starts from her couch, and the rude din of war
Sounds harsh in ev'ry ear. But, righteous Heav'n!
Britain deserted, friendless and alone,

Will not as yet despair: shine but in arms,
O Prince! belov'd by all; patron profess'd
Of liberty; with ev'ry virtue crown'd;

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Millions shall crowd her strand, and her white cliffs, As Teneriffe or Atlas firm, defy

The break of seas, and malice of her foes,

Nor the proud Gaul prevail where Casar fail'd.

THE BOWLING GREEN.

WHERE fair Sabrina's wand'ring currents flow,
A large smooth plain extends its verdant brow;
Here ev'ry morn, while fruitful vapours feel
The swelling blade, and bless the smoking mead,
A cruel tyrant reigns: like Time, the swain
Whets his unrighteous scithe, and shaves the plain:
Beneath each stroke the peeping flow'rs decay,
And all th' unripen'd crop is swept away:
The heavy roller next he tugs along,

Whiffs his short pipe, or rears a rural song ;
With curious eye then the press'd turf he views,
And ev'ry rising prominence subdues.

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Now when each craving stomach was well-stor'd,
And Church and King had travell'd round the board,
Hither at Fortune's shrine to pay their court
With eager hopes the motley tribe resort;
Attornies spruce, in their plate-button'd frocks,
And rosy parsons, fat and orthodox:

Of ev'ry sect, Whigs, Papists, and Highflyers,
Cornuted aldermen and hen-peck'd squires;
Fox-hunters, quacks, scribblers in verse and prose,
And half-pay captains, and half-witted beaus.
On the green cirque the ready racers stand,
Dispos'd in pairs, and tempt the bowler's hand;
Each polish'd sphere does his round brother own,
The twins distinguish'd by their marks are known.

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THE BOWLING-GREEN..

As the strong rein guides the well-manag'd horse,
Here weighty lead infus'd directs their course:

These in the ready road drive on with speed,

But those in crooked paths more artfully succeed. 30
Sot he tall ship that makes some dang❜rous bay
With a side wind obliquely slopes her way.
Lo! there the silver tumbler fix'd on high,
The victor's prize, inviting ev'ry eye!

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The champions or consent or chance divide,
While each man thinks his own the surer side,
And the jack leads the skilful bowler's guide.
Bendo stripp'd first; from foreign coasts he brought
A chaos of receipts, and anarchy of thought;
Where the tumultuous whims to factîon prone,
Still justled monarch Reason from her throne:
More dang'rous than the porcupine's his quill,
Inur'd to slaughter, and secure to kill.

Let loose, just Heav'n! each virulent disease,
But save us from such murderers as these.
Might Bendo live but half a patriarch's age,
Th' unpeopled world would sink beneath his rage;
Nor need t' appease the just Creator's ire
A second deluge or consuming fire.

He winks one eye, and knits his brow severe,
Then from his hand lanches the flying sphere;
Out of the green the guiltless wood he hurl'd,
Swift as his patients from this nether world;
Then grinn'd malignant, but the jocund crowd
Deride his senseless rage, and shout aloud.

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Next, Zadoc, 'tis thy turn, imperious priest!
Still late at church, but early at a feast.
No turkey-cock appears with better grace,
His garments black, vermillion paints his face:
His wattles hang upon his stiffen'd band,
His platter féet upon the trigger stand,
He grasps the bowl in his rough brawny hand:
Then sqatting down, with his grey goggle-eyes
He takes his aim and at the mark it flies.
Zadoc pursues, aud wabbles o'er the plain,

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But shakes his strutting paunch, and ambles on in vain;
For, oh! wide-erring to the left it glides,
The inmate lead the lighter wood-misguides.
He sharp reproofs with kind entreaties joins,
Then on the counter side with pain reclines,
As if he meant to regulate its course,
By pow'r attractive and magnetic force.
Now almost in despair, he raves, he storms,
Writhes his unwieldy trunk in various forms.
Unhappy Proteus! still in vain he tries
A thousand shapes, the bowl erroneous flies,
Deaf to his pray'rs, regardless of his cries:
His puffing cheeks with rising rage inflame,
And all his sparkling rubies glow with shame.
Bendo's proud heart, proof against Fortune's frown,
Resolves once more to make the prize his own:
Cautious he plods surveying all the green,

And measures with his eye the space between:

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