The Chace

Front matter

THE

CHACE.

A

Preface

THE

PREFACE.

T Old and Infirm have at least this Privilege, that they can recall to their Minds those Scenes of Joy in which they once delighted, and ruminate over their past Pleasures, with a Satisfaction almost equal to the first Enjoyment. For those Ideas, to which any agreeable Sensation is annex'd, are easily excited; as leaving behind them the most strong and permanent Impressions. The Amusements of our Youth are the Boast and Comfort of our declining Years. The Ancients carried this Notion even yet further, and supposed their Heroes in the Elysian Fields were fond of the very same Diversions they exercised on Earth. Death it self could not wean them from the accustom'd Sports and Gayeties of Life.

Pars in gramineis exercent membra palæstris, Contendunt ludo, & fulvâ luctantur arenâ: Pars pedibus plaudunt choreas, & carmina dicunt. Arma procul currusque virûm miratur inanes. Stant terrâ defixæ hastæ, passimque soluti Per campos pascuntur equi. Quæ gratia currûm Armorumque fuit vivis, quæ cura nitentes Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repôstos. >>Virg. Æneid. VI.

Part on the grassy Cirque their pliant Limbs In Wrestling exercise, or on the Sands Struggling dispute the Prize. Part lead the Ring, Or swell the Chorus with alternate Lays. The Chief their Arms admires, their empty Cars, Their Lances fix'd in Earth, Th'unharness'd Steeds Graze unrestrain'd; Horses, and Cars, and Arms, All the same fond Desires, and pleasing Cares, Still haunt their Shades, and after Death survive.

I hope therefore I may be indulged (even by the more grave and censorious Part of Mankind) if at my leisure Hours, I run over, in my Elbow-Chair, some of those Chaces, which were once the Delight of a more vigorous Age. It is an entertaining, and (as I conceive) a very innocent Amusement. The Result of these rambling Imaginations will be found in the following Poem; which if equally diverting to my Readers, as to my self, I shall have gain'd my End. I have intermix'd the preceptive Parts with so many Descriptions and Digressions in the Georgick Manner, that I hope they will not be tedious. I am sure they are very necessary to be well understood by any Gentleman, who would enjoy this noble Sport in full Perfection. In this at least I may comfort my self, that I cannot trespass upon their Patience more than Markham, Blome, and the other Prose Writers upon this Subject.

It is most certain, that Hunting was the Exercise of the greatest Heroes in Antiquity. By this they form'd themselves for War; and their Exploits against Wild Beasts were a Prelude to their future Victories. Xenophon says, that almost all the ancient Heroes, Nestor, Theseus, Castor, Pollux, Ulysses, Diomedes, Achilles, &c. were Μαθηταὶ Κυνηγεσιῶν, Disciples of Hunting; being taught carefully that Art, as what would be highly serviceable to them in military Discipline. Xen. Cynegetic. And Pliny observes, those who were design'd for great Captains, were first taught certare cum fugacibus feris cursu, cum audacibus robore, cum callidis astu: to contest with the swiftest Wild Beasts, in Speed; with the boldest, in Strength; with the most cunning, in Craft and Subtilty. Plin. Panegyr. And the Roman Emperors, in those Monuments they erected to transmit their Actions to future Ages, made no scruple to join the Glories of the Chace to their most celebrated Triumphs. Neither were their Poets wanting to do Justice to this heroick Exercise. Beside that of Oppian in Greek, we have several Poems in Latin upon Hunting. Gratius was Contemporary with Ovid; as appears by this Verse,

Aptaque venanti Gratius arma dabit. >>Lib. iv. Pont.

Gratius shall arm the Huntsman for the Chace.

But of his Works only some Fragments re- main. There are many others of more modern Date. Amongst these Nemesianus, who seems very much superior to Gratius, tho' of a more degenerate Age. But only a Fragment of his first Book is preserv'd. We might indeed have expected to have seen it treated more at large by Virgil in his third Georgick, since it is expressly Part of his Subject. But he has favoured us only with ten Verses; and what he says of Dogs, relates wholly to Grey-bounds and Mastiffs.

Veloces Spartæ catulos, acremque Molossum. >>Geor. III.

The Greyhound swift, and Mastiff's furious Breed.

And he directs us to feed them with Butter-Milk. Pasce Sero pingui. He has it is true touch'd upon the Chace in the 4th and 7th Books of the Æneid. But it is evident, that the Art of Hunting is very different now; from what it was in his Days, and very much alter'd and improv'd in these latter Ages. It does not appear to me that the Ancients had any Notion of pursuing Wild Beasts by the Scent only, with a regular and well-disciplin'd Pack of Hounds; and therefore they must have pass'd for Poachers amongst our modern Sportsmen. The Muster Roll given us by Ovid, in his Story of Actaeon is of all Sorts of Dogs, and of all Countries. And the Description of the ancient Hunting, as we find it in the Antiquities of Pere de Montfaucon taken from the Sepulchre of the Nasos, and the Arch of Constantine, has not the least Trace of the Manner now in Use.

WHENEVER the Ancients mention Dogs followed by the Scent, they mean no more than finding out the Game by the Nose of one single Dog. This was as much as they knew of the Odora canum vis. Thus Nemesianus says,

Odorato noscunt vestigia prato, Atque etiam leporum secreta cubilia monstrant.

They challenge on the Mead the recent Stains, And trail the Hare unto her secret Form.

Oppian has a long Description of these Dogs in his first Book from Ver. 479 to 526. And here, tho' he seems to describe the Hunting of the Hare by the Scent thro' many Turnings and Windings; yet he really says no more, than that one of those Hounds, which he calls ἰχνευτῆρες, finds out the Game. For he follows the Scent no further than the Hare's Form; from whence, after he has started her, he pursues her by Sight. I am indebted for these two last Remarks to a reverend and very learned Gentleman, whole Judgment in the Belles Lettres no Body disputes, and whose Approbation gave me the Assurance to publish this Poem.

Oppian also observes, that the best Sort of these Finders were brought from Britain; this Island having always been famous (as it is at this Day) for the best Breed of Hounds, for Persons the best skill'd in the Art of Hunting, and for Horses the most enduring to follow the Chace. It is therefore strange that none of our Poets have yet thought it worth their while to treat of this Subject; which is without doubt very noble in itself, and very well adapted to receive the most beautiful Turns of Poetry. Per- haps our Poets have no great Genius for Hunting. Yet I hope, my Brethren of the Couples, by encouraging this first, but imperfect, Essay, will hew the World they have at least some Taste for Poetry.

THE Ancients esteem'd Hunting, not only as a manly and warlike Exercise, but as highly conducive to Health. The famous Galen recommends it above all others, as not only exercising the Body, but giving Delight and Entertainment to the Mind. And be calls the Inventors of this Art wise Men, and well skill'd in human Nature. Lib. de parvæ pilæ Exercitio.

THE Gentlemen, who are fond of a Gingle at the Close of every Verse, and think no Poem truly musical but what is in Rhime, will here find themselves disappointed. If they will be pleased to read over the Short Preface before the Paradise Lost, Mr. Smith's Poem in Memory of his Friend Mr. John Philips, and the Archbishop of Cambray's Letter to Monsieur Fontenelle, they may probably be of another Opinion. For my own Part, I shall not be asham'd to follow the Example of Milton, Philips, Thomson, and all our best tragick Writers.

SOME few Terms of Art are dispers'd here and there; but such only as are absolutely requisite to explain my Subject. I hope in this the Criticks will excuse me; for I am humbly of Opinion, that the Affectation, and not the necessary Use, is the proper Object of their Censure.

BUT I have done. I know the Impatience of my Brethren, when a fine Day, and the Consort of the Kennel, invite them abroad. I shall therefore leave my Reader to such Diversion, as he may find in the Poem it self.

En age, Segnes, Rumpe moras; vocat ingenti clamore Cithæron, Taygetique canes, domitrixque Epidaurus equorum; Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit. >>Virg. Georg. iii.

Hark, away, Cast far behind the lingring Cares of Life. Cithæron calls aloud; and in full Cry Thy Hounds, Taygetus. Epidaurus trains For us the gen'rous Steed; the Hunter's Shouts, And chearing Cries, assenting Woods return.

To William Somervile, Esq; on his Poem call'd The Chace

TO

William Somervile, Esq;

On his POEM call'd

The CHACE.

While you, Sir, gain the steep Ascent to Fame, And Honours due to deathless Merit claim; To a weak Muse a kind Indulgence lend, >>> Fond with just Praise your Labours to commend, And tell the World, that Somervile's her Friend. Her Incense guiltless of the Forms of Art Breaths all the Huntsman's Honesty of Heart; Whose Fancy still the pleasing Scene retains Of Edric's Villa, and Ardenna's Plains:

Joys, which from Change superiour Charms receiv'd, The Horn hoarse-sounding by the Lyre reliev'd: When the Day crown'd with rural, chaste Delight, Resigns obsequious to the festive Night; The festive Night awakes th' harmonious Lay, And in sweet Verse recounts the Triumphs of the Day.

Strange! that the British Muse should leave so long, The Chace, the Sport of Britain's Kings, unsung! Distinguish'd Land! by Heav'n indulg'd to breed The stout, sagacious Hound, and gen'rous Steed; In vain! while yet no Bard adorn'd our Isle, To celebrate the glorious sylvan Toil. Far this what darling Son shall feel thy Fire, God of th' unerring Bow, and tuneful Lyre? Our Vows are heard——attend, ye vocal Throng, Somervile meditates th' advent'rous Song.

Bold to attempt, and happy to excell, His num'rous Verse the Huntsman's Art shall tell. From him, ye British Youths, a vig'rous Race, Imbibe the various Science of the Chace; And while the well-plan'd System you admire, Know, Brunswick only could the Work inspire: A Georgic Muse awaits Augustan Days, And Somerviles will sing, when Frederics give the Bays.

>>John Nixon.

To the Author of The Chace

TO THE

AUTHOR

OF

The CHACE.

Once more, my Friend, I touch the trembling Lyre, And in my Bosom feel poetick Fire. For thee I quit the Law's more rugged Ways, To pay my humble Tribute to thy Lays. What, tho' I daily turn each learned Sage, And labour thro' the unenlighten'd Page: Wak'd by thy Lines, the borrow'd Flames I feel, As Flints give Fire when aided by the Steel.

Tho' in sulphureous Clouds of Smoak confin'd, Thy rural Scenes spring fresh into my Mind. Thy Genius in such Colours paints the Chace, The real to fictitious Joys give Place. When the wild Musick charms my ravish'd Ear, How dull, how tasteless Handel's Notes appear! Ev'n Farenelli's Self the Palm resigns, He yields——but to the Musick of thy Lines. If Friends to Poetry can yet be found; Who without blushing Sense prefer to Sound; Then let this soft, this Soul-enfeebling Band, These warbling Minstrels quit the beggar'd Land. They but a momentary Joy impart, 'Tis you, who touch the Soul, and warm the Heart. How tempting do thy sylvan Sports appear! Ev'n wild Ambition might vouchsafe an Ear, Might her fond Lust of Pow'r a while compose, And gladly change it for thy sweet Repose.

No fierce, unruly Senates, threaten here, >>> No Axe, no Scaffold, to the View appear, No Envy, Disappointment, and Despair. Here, blest Vicissitude! whene'er you please, You step from Exercise, to learned Ease; Turn o'er each Classick Page, each Beauty trace, The Mind unwearied in the pleasing Chace. Oh! would kind Heav'n such Happiness bestow, Let Fools, let Knaves, be Masters here below. Grandeur and Place, those Baits to catch the Wise, And all their pageant Train, I pity and despise.

>>J. Tracy.

The Chace. Book I.

THE

CHACE.

A

POEM.

The Argument of the First Book.

THE

E.

A

M.

The Chace I sing, Hounds, and their various Breed, And no less various Use. O thou Great Prince! Whom Cambrias tow'ring Hills proclaim their Lord, Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive Song. While grateful Citizens with pompous Shew,

Rear the triumphal Arch, rich with th' Exploits Of thy Illustrious House; while Virgins pave Thy Way with Flow'rs, and, as the Royal Youth Passing they view, admire, and sigh in vain; While crowded Theatres, too fondly proud Of their exotick Minstrels, and shrill Pipes, The Price of Manhood, hail thee with a Song, And Airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding Horn Invites thee to the Chace, the Sport of Kings; Image of War, without its Guilt. The Muse Aloft on Wing shall soar, conduct with Care Thy foaming Courser o'er the steepy Rock, Or on the River Bank receive thee safe, Light-bounding o'er the Wave, from Shore to Shore. Be thou our great Protector, gracious Youth! And if in future Times, some envious Prince, Careless of Right and guileful, shou'd invade Thy Britains Commerce, or shou'd strive in vain

To wrest the Balance from thy equal Hand; Thy Hunter-Train, in chearful Green array'd, (A Band undaunted, and inur'd to Toils,) Shall compass thee around, dye at thy Feet, Or hew thy Passage thro' th' embattled Foe, And clear thy Way to Fame; inspir'd by thee The nobler Chace of Glory shall pursue Thro' Fire, and Smoke, and Blood, and Fields of Death.

Nature, in her Productions slow, aspires By just Degrees to reach Perfection's Height: So mimick Art works leisurely, 'till Time Improve the Piece, or wise Experience give The proper Finishing. When Nimrod bold, That mighty Hunter, first made War on Beasts, And stain'd the Wood-land Green with purple Dye, New, and unpolish'd was the Huntsman's Art;

No stated Rule, his wanton Will his Guide. With Clubs and Stones, rude Implements of War, He arm'd his savage Bands, a Multitude Untrain'd; Of twining Osiers form'd, they pitch Their artless Toiles, then range the desert Hills, And scow'r the Plains below; the trembling Herd Start at th' unusual Sound, and clam'rous Shout Unheard before; surpriz'd alass! to find Man now their Foe, whom erst they deem'd their Lord, But mild, and gentle, and by whom as yet Secure they graz'd. Death stretches o'er the Plain Wide-wasting, and grim Slaughter red with Blood: Urg'd on by Hunger keen, they wound, they kill, Their Rage licentious knows no bound; at last Incumber'd with their Spoils, joyful they bear Upon their Shoulders broad, the bleeding Prey. Part on their Altars smokes a Sacrifice

To that all-gracious Pow'r, whose bounteous Hand Supports his wide Creation; what remains On living Coals they broil, inelegant Of Taste, nor skill'd as yet in nicer Arts Of pamper'd Luxury. Devotion pure, And strong Necessity, thus first began The Chace of Beasts: Tho' bloody was the Deed, Yet without Guilt. For the green Herb alone Unequal to sustain Man's lab'ring Race, Now ev'ry moving Thing that liv'd on Earth Was granted him for Food. So just is Heav'n, To give us in Proportion to our Wants.

Or Chance or Industry in After-Times Some few Improvements made, but short as yet Of due Perfection. In this Isle remote Our painted Ancestors were slow to learn,

To Arms devote, of the politer Arts Nor skill'd nor studious; till from Neustrias Coasts Victorious William, to more decent Rules Subdu'd our Saxon Fathers, taught to speak The proper Dialect, with Horn and Voice To chear the busy Hound, whose well-known Cry His list'ning Peers approve with joint Acclaim. From him successive Huntsmen learn'd to join In bloody social Leagues, the Multitude Dispers'd, to size, to sort their various Tribes, To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the Pack,

Hail happy Britain! highly favour'd Isle, And Heav'n's peculiar Care! To thee 'tis giv'n To train the sprightly Steed, more fleet than those Begot by Winds, or the celestial Breed That bore the great Pelides thro' the Press Of Heroes arm'd, and broke their crowded Ranks;

Which proudly neighing, with the Sun begins Chearful his Course; and e'er his Beams decline, Has measur'd half thy Surface unfatigued. In thee alone, fair Land of Liberty! Is bred the perfect Hound, in Scent and Speed As yet unrivall'd, while in other Climes Their Virtue fails, a weak degen'rate Race. In vain malignant Steams, and Winter Fogs Load the dull Air, and hover round our Coasts, The Huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold, Defies the noxious Vapour, and confides In this delightful Exercise, to raise His drooping Head, and cheer his Heart with Joy.

Ye vig'rous Youths, by smiling Fortune blest With large Demesnes, hereditary Wealth, Heap'd copious by your wise Fore-Fathers Care, Hear and attend! while I the Means reveal

T'enjoy those Pleasures, for the Weak too strong, Too costly for the Poor: To rein the Steed Swift-stretching o'er the Plain, to chear the Pack Op'ning in Consorts of harmonious Joy, But breathing Death. What tho' the Gripe severe Of brazen-fisted Time, and flow Disease Creeping thro' ev'ry Vein, and Nerve unstrung, Afflict my shatter'd Frame, undaunted still, Fix'd as a Mountain Ash, that braves the Bolts Of angry Jove; tho' blasted, yet unfallen; Still can my Soul in Fancy's Mirrour view Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous Scene In all its Splendors deck'd, o'er the full Bowl Recount my Triumphs past, urge others on With Hand and Voice, and point the winding Way: Pleas'd with that social sweet Garrulity, The poor disbanded Vet'ran's sole Delight.

First let the Kennel be the Huntsman's Care, Upon some little Eminence erect, And fronting to the ruddy Dawn; its Courts On either Hand wide op'ning to receive The Sun's all-chearing Beams, when mild he shines, And gilds the Mountain Tops. For much the Pack (Rous'd from their dark Alcoves) delight to stretch, And bask, in his invigorating Ray: Warn'd by the streaming Light, and merry Lark, Forth rush the jolly Clan; with tuneful Throats They carol loud, and in grand Chorus join'd Salute the new-born Day. For not alone The vegetable World, but Men and Brutes Own his reviving Influence, and joy At his Approach. Fountain of Light! if Chance Some envious Cloud veil thy refulgent Brow, In vain the Muses Aid, untouch'd, unstrung,

Lies my mute Harp, and thy desponding Bard Sits darkly musing o'er th' unfinish'd Lay.

Let no Corinthian Pillars prop the Dome, A vain Expence, on charitable Deeds Better dispos'd, to cloath the tatter'd Wretch, Who shrinks beneath the Blast, to feed the Poor Pinch'd with afflictive Want: For Use, not State, Gracefully plain, let each Apartment rise. O'er all let Cleanliness preside, no Scraps Bestrew the Pavement, and no half-pick'd Bones, To kindle fierce Debate, or to disgust That nicer Sense, on which the Sportsman's Hope, And all his future Triumphs must depend. Soon as the growling Pack with eager Joy Have lapp'd their smoking Viands, Morn or Eve, From the full Cistern lead the ductile Streams, To wash thy Court well-pav'd, nor spare thy Pains,

For much to Health will Cleanliness avail. Seek'st thou for Hounds to climb the rocky Steep, And bruth th'entangled Covert, whose nice Scent O'er greasy Fallows, and frequented Roads Can pick the dubious Way? Banish far off Each noisome Stench, let no offensive Smell Invade thy wide Inclosure, but admit The nitrous Air, and purifying Breeze.

Water and Shade no less demand thy Care: In a large Square th'adjacent Field inclose, There plant in equal Ranks the spreading Elm, Or fragrant Lime; most happy thy Design, If at the Bottom of thy spacious Court, A large Canal fed by the crystal Brook, From its transparent Bosom shall reflect Thy downward Structure and inverted Grove. Here when the Sun's too potent Gleams annoy

The crowded Kennel, and the drooping Pack Restless and faint, loll their unmoisten'd Tongues, And drop their feeble Tails; to cooler Shades Lead forth the panting Tribe, soon shalt thou find The cordial Breeze their fainting Hearts revive: Tumultuous soon they plunge into the Stream, There lave their reeking Sides, with greedy Joy Gulp down the flying Wave, this Way and that From Shore to Shore they swim, while Clamour loud And wild Uproar torments the troubled Flood: Then on the sunny Bank they roll and stretch Their dripping Limbs, or else in wanton Rings Coursing around, pursuing and pursued, The merry Multitude disporting play.

But here with watchful and observant Eye, Attend their Frolicks, which too often end

In bloody Broils and Death. High o'er thy Head Wave thy resounding Whip, and with a Voice Fierce-menacing o'er-rule the stern Debate, And quench their kindling Rage; for oft in Sport Begun, Combat ensues, growling they snarl, Then on their Haunches rear'd, rampant they seize Each others Throats, with Teeth, and Claws, in Gore Besmear'd, they wound, they tear, 'till on the Ground, Panting, half dead the conquer'd Champion lies: Then sudden all the base ignoble Crowd Loud-clam'ring seize the helpless worried Wretch, And thirsting for his Blood, drag diff'rent Ways His mangled Carcass on th' ensanguin'd Plain. O Breasts of Pity void! t'oppress the Weak, To point your Vengeance at the friendless Head,

And with one mutual Cry insult the Fall'n! Emblem too just of Man's degen'rate Race.

Others apart by native Instinct led, Knowing Instructor! 'mong the ranker Grass Cull each salubrious Plant, with bitter Juice Concoctive stor'd, and potent to allay Each vitious Ferment. Thus the Hand divine Of Providence, beneficent and kind To all his Creatures, for the Brutes prescribes A ready Remedy, and is himself Their great Physician. Now grown stiff with Age, And many a painful Chace, the wise old Hound Regardless of the frolick Pack, attends His Master's Side, or slumbers at his Ease Beneath the bending Shade; there many a Ring Runs o're in Dreams; now on the doubtful Foil Puzzles perplex'd, or Doubles intricate

Cautious unfolds, then wing'd with all his Speed, Bounds o'er the Lawn to seize his panting Prey: And in imperfect Whimp'rings speaks his Joy.

A diff'rent Hound for ev'ry diff'rent Chace Select with Judgment; nor the tim'rous Hare O'er-match'd destroy, but leave that vile Offence To the mean, murd'rous, coursing Crew; intent On Blood and Spoil. O blast their Hopes, just Heav'n! And all their painful Drudgeries repay With Disappointment and severe Remorse. But husband thou thy Pleasures, and give Scope To all her subtle Play: By Nature led A thousand Shifts she tries; t'unravel these Th' industrious Beagle twists his waving Tail, Thro' all her Labyrinths pursues, and rings

Her doleful Knell. See there with Count'nance blith, And with a courtly grin, the fawning Hound Salutes thee cow'ring, his wide op'ning Nose Upward he curls, and his large Sloe-black Eyes Melt in soft Blandishments, and humble Joy; His glossy Skin, or Yellow-pied, or Blue, In Lights or Shades by Nature's Pencil drawn, Reflects the various Tints; his Ears and Legs Fleckt here and there, in gay enamel'd Pride, Rival the speckled Pard; his Rush-grown Tail O'er his broad Back bends in an ample Arch; On Shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands; His round Cat Foot, strait Hams, and wide-spread Thighs, And his low-dropping Chest, confess his Speed, His Strength, his Wind, or on the steepy Hill, Or far extended Plain; in ev'ry Part

So well proportion'd, that the nicer Skill Of Phidias himself cant' blame thy Choice. Of such compose thy Pack. But here a Mean Observe, nor the large Hound prefer, of Size Gigantick; he in the thick-woven Covert Painfully tugs, or in the thorny Brake Torn and embarrass'd bleeds: But if too small, The pigmy Brood in ev'ry Furrow swims; Moil'd in the clogging Clay, panting they lag Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep Benumb'd and faint beneath the shelt'ring Thorn. For Hounds of middle Size, active and strong, Will better answer all thy various Ends, And crown thy pleasing Labours with Success.

As some brave Captain, curious and exact, By his fix'd Standard forms in equal Ranks His gay Battalion, as one Man they move

Step after Step, their Size the same, their Arms Far-gleaming, dart the same united Blaze: Reviewing Generals his Merit own; How regular! How just! And all his Cares Are well repaid, is mighty George approve. So model thou thy Pack, if Honour touch Thy gen'rous Soul, and the World's just Applause. But above all take heed, nor mix thy Hounds Of diff'rent Kinds; discordant Sounds shall grate Thy Ears offended, and a lagging Line Of babbling Curs disgrace thy broken Pack. But if th' amphibious Otter be thy Chace, Or stately Stag, that o'er the Woodland reigns; Or if th' harmonious Thunder of the Field Delight thy ravish'd Ears; the deep-flew'd Hound Breed up with Care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure; Whose Ears down-hanging from his thick round Head

Shall sweep the Morning Dew, whose clanging Voice Awake the Mountain Echo in her Cell, And shake the Forests: The bold Talbot Kind Of these the Prime, as white as Alpine Snows; And great their Use of old. Upon the Banks Of Tweed, slow-winding thro' the Vale, the Seat Of War and Rapine once, e'er Britons knew The Sweets of Peace, or Annas dread Commands To lasting Leagues the haughty Rivals aw'd, There dwelt a pilf'ring Race; well-train'd and skill'd In all the Mysteries of Theft, the Spoil Their only Substance, Feuds and War their Sport: Not more expert in ev'ry fraudful Art Th' Arch Felon was of old, who by the Tail

Brew back his lowing Prize: In vain his Wiles, In vain the Shelter of the cov'ring Rock, In vain the sooty Cloud, and ruddy Flames That issu'd from his Mouth; for soon he paid His forfeit Life: A Debt how justly due To wrong'd Alcides, and avenging Heav'n! Veil'd in the Shades of Night they ford the Stream, Then proling far and near, whate'er they seize Becomes their Prey; nor Flocks nor Herds are safe, Nor Stalls protect the Steer, nor strong barr'd Doors Secure the fav'rite Horse, Soon as the Morn Reveals his Wrongs, with ghastly Visage wan The plunder'd Owner stands, and from his Lips A thousand thronging Curses burst their Way: He calls his stout Allies, and in a Line His faithful Hound he leads, then with a Voice That utters loud his Rage, attentive chears:

Soon the sagacious Brute, his curling Tail Flourish'd in Air, low-bending plies around His busy Nose, the steaming Vapour snuffs Inquisitive, nor leaves one Turf untried, 'Till conscious of the recent Stains, his Heart Beats quick; his snuffling Nose, his active Tail Attest his Joy; then with deep op'ning Mouth That makes the Welkin tremble, he proclaims Th'audacious Felon; Foot by Foot he marks His winding Way, while all the list'ning Crowd Applaud his Reas'nings. O'er the wat'ry Ford, Dry sandy Heaths, and stony barren Hills, O'er beaten Paths, with Men and Beasts distain'd, Unerring he pursues; till at the Cot Arriv'd, and seizing by his guilty Throat The Caitif vile, redeems the captive Prey: So exquisitely delicate his Sense!

Shou'd some more curious Sportsman here enquire, Whence this Sagacity, this wond'rous Pow'r, Of tracing Step by Step, or Man or Brute? What Guide invisible points out their Way, O'er the dank Marsh, bleak Hill, and sandy Plain? The courteous Muse shall the dark Cause reveal. The Blood that from the Heart incessant rolls In many a crimson Tide, then here and there In smaller Rills disparted, as it flows Propell'd, the ferous Particles evade Thro' th' open Pores, and with the ambient Air Entangling mix. As fuming Vapours rise, And hang upon the gently purling Brook, There by th'incumbent Atmosphere compress'd. The panting Chace grows warmer as he flies, And thro' the Net-work of the Skin perspires;

Leaves a long-streaming Trail behind, which by The cooler Air condens'd, remains, unless By some rude Storm dispers'd, or rarified By the Meridian's Sun's intenser Heat, To ev'ry Shrub the warm Effluvia cling, Hang on the Grass, impregnate Earth and Skies. With Nostrils op'ning wide, o'er Hill, o'er Dale, The vig'rous Hounds pursue, with ev'ry Breath Inhale the grateful Steam, quick Pleasures sting Their tingling Nerves, while they their Thanks repay, And in triumphant Melody confess The titillating Joy. Thus on the Air Depend the Hunter's Hopes. When ruddy Streaks At Eve forebode a blust'ring stormy Day, Or low'ring Clouds blacken the Mountain's Brow, When nipping Frosts, and the keen biting Blasts Of the dry parching East, menace the Trees

With tender Blossoms teeming, kindly spare Thy sleeping Pack, in their warm Beds of Straw Low-sinking at their Ease; listless they shrink Into some dark Recess, nor hear thy Voice Tho' oft invok'd; or haply if thy Call Rouze up the slumb'ring Tribe, with heavy Eyes Glaz'd, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their Tails Inverted; high on their bent Backs erect Their pointed Bristles stare, or 'mong the Tufts Of ranker Weeds, each Stomach-healing Plant Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn. These inauspicious Days, on other Cares Employ thy precious Hours; th'improving Friend With open Arms embrace, and from his Lips Glean Science, season'd with good-natur'd Wit. But if th'inclement Skies, and angry Jove Forbid the pleasing Intercourse, thy Books

Invite thy ready Hand, each sacred Page Rich with the wise Remarks of Heroes old. Converse familiar with th' illustrious Dead; With great Examples of old Greece or Rome Enlarge thy free-born Heart, and bless kind Heav'n, That Britain yet enjoys dear Liberty, That Balm of Life, that sweetest Blessing, cheap Tho' purchas'd with our Blood. Well-bred, polite, Credit thy Calling. See! how mean, how low, The bookless sauntring Youth, proud of the Skut That dignifies his Cap, his flourish'd Belt, And rusty Couples gingling by his Side. Be thou of other Mold; and know that such Transporting Pleasures, were by Heav'n ordain'd Wisdom's Relief, and Virtue's great Reward.