σ WHILE you, dear Townshend, o'er the billows ride, At that dim hour when fading lamps expire, When the last, ling'ring, clubs to bed retire, I rise!-how should I then thy feelings shock, Unshav'd, unpowder'd, in my shooting frock! "What frock?" thou criest-I'll tell thee-the old brown ; Trimm'd to a jacket, with the skirts cut down Thou laugh'st; I know, thou dost; but check that sneer; Epist. X. EPISTLES DESCRIPTIVE, &c. 87 What tho' no fashion'd sportsman I appear, Yet hence thy Charles's voice gains shriller force; Nor deem ev'n here the cares of state forgot, Oft too, while all around my pointers stray, Not Ranger then, but Washington, I cry; Hey on! Paul Jones, re-echoes to the sky : Toho! old Franklin-Silas Deane, take heed!- Till one, to whose quick sense and practis❜d skill Touch'd by the scent the passing gales convey, "Teach thee where best to aim, what ground to take." σ And see, a young bird rises, weak and slow; "At him, Sir Charles !"-He fires, and lays him low Scar'd at the sound, up the full covey springs; Not so thy Charles; intent with half-clos'd sight, 40 A double barrel's force, but try in vain ; But if too soon the startled covey rise, 50 My faithful groom quick marks them as they spring, Thus from each kindred image, fancy draws If chance, a stray, lone, bird my course invites, ύο Some senatorial type ev'n Pointers yield; But come, dear Jack, all martial as thou art, = figur Come, happy Friend! to hail thy wish'd return, And seem with reprehensive love to say, "Dear Mr. Townshend, wherefore didst thou stray ! "What fatal havoc might one shot have made, "If not thy life, thy leg the forfeit paid! "That shot thy foretop might have made it's prey, "Or sing'd one dear devoted curl away; "Or lopp'd that hand, the pride of love and lace; "Or scarr'd, with bolder sacrilege, thy face." Soon as to Brooks's thence thy footsteps bend, What gratulations thy approach attend! See Gibbon rap his box; auspicious sign, That classic compliment and wit combine; See Beauclerk's cheek a tinge of red surprise, And Friendship give what cruel Health denies. Important Townshend! what can thee withstand ? 100 The ling'ring black-ball lags in Boothby's hand; Ev'n Draper checks the sentimental sigh, And Smith, without an oath, suspends the dye. That night, to festive wit and friendship due. That night thy Charles's board shall welcome you. Sallads, that shame ragouts, shall woo thy taste; Deep shalt thou delve in Weltjie's motley paste; Derby shall lend, if not his plate, his cooks, And, know, I've bought the best Champaigne from From liberal Brooks, whose speculative skill, !? Who, nurs'd in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade, On that auspicious night, supremely grac❜d With chosen guests, the pride of liberal taste, |