Start at the starting prey, or rustling wind,
And, hot at first, inglorious lag behind.

A sauntering tribe! may such my foes disgrace!
Give me, ye gods, to breed the nobler race.
Nor grieve thou to attend, while truths unknown
I sing, and make Athenian arts our own.

Dost thou in hounds aspire to deathless fame?
Learn well their lineage and their ancient stem.
Each tribe with joy old rustic heralds trace,
And sing the chosen worthies of their race;
How his sire's features in the son were spy'd,
When Die was made the vigorous Ringwood's
bride.

Less sure thick lips the fate of Austria doom,
Or eagle noses rul'd almighty Rome.

Good shape to various kinds old bards confine,
Some praise the Greek, and some the Roman line;
And dogs to beauty make as differing claims,
As Albion's nymphs, and India's jetty dames.
Immense to name their lands, to mark their bounds,
And paint the thousand families of hounds:
First count the sands, the drops where oceans flow,
Or Gauls by Marlborough sent to shades below,
The task be mine, to teach Britannia's swains,
My much-lov'd country, and my native plains.
Such be the dog, I charge, thou mean'st to
train,

His back is crooked, and his belly plain,
Of fillet stretch'd, and huge of haunch behind,
A tapering tail, that nimbly cuts the wind;

Truss-thigh'd, straight-ham'd, and fox-like form'd

his paw,

Large-legg'd, dry sol'd, and of protended claw.
His flat, wide nostrils snuff the savoury steam,
And from his eyes he shoots pernicious gleam;
Middling his head, and prone to earth his view,
With ears and chest that dash the morning dew:
He best to stem the flood, to leap the bound,
And charm the Dryads with his voice profound;
To pay large tribute to his weary lord,
And crown the sylvan hero's plenteous board.

The matron bitch whose womb shall best

produce

The hopes and fortune of th' illustrious house,
Deriv'd from noble, but from foreign seed,
For various nature loaths incestuous breed,
Is like the sire throughout. Nor yet displease
Large flanks, and ribs, to give the teemer ease.
In Spring let loose thy pairs. Then all things

prove

The stings of pleasure, and the pangs of love:
Ethereal Jove then glads, with genial showers,
Earth's mighty womb, and strews her lap with
flowers.

Hence juices mount, and buds, embolden'd, try
More kindly breezes, and a softer sky:
Kind Venus revels. Hark! on every bough,
In lulling strains the feather'd warblers woo.
Fell tigers soften in th' infectious flames,
And lions fawning, court their brinded dames:

Great Love pervades the deep; to please his mate, The whale, in gambols, moves his monstrous

weight,

Heav'd by his wayward mirth old Ocean roars, And scatter'd navies bulge on distant shores.

All Nature smiles; come now, nor fear, my love,
To taste the odours of the woodbine grove,
To pass the evening glooms in harmless play,
And, sweetly swearing, languish life away.
An altar, bound with recent flowers, I rear
To thee, best season of the various year;
All hail! such days in beauteous order ran,
So swift, so sweet, when first the world began,
In Eden's bowers, when man's great sire assign'd
The names and natures of the brutal kind.
Then lamb and lion friendly walk'd their round,
And hares, undaunted, lick'd the fondling hound;
Wondrous to tell! but when, with luckless hand,
Our daring mother broke the sole command,
Then Want and Envy brought their meagre train,
Then Wrath came down, and Death had leave to
reign:

Hence foxes earth'd, and wolves abhorr'd the day,
And hungry churls ensnar'd the nightly prey;
Rude arts at first; but witty Want refin'd
The huntsman's wiles, and Famine form'd the mind.
Bold Nimrod first the lion's trophies wore,
The panther bound, and lanc'd the bristling boar;
He taught to turn the hare, to bay the deer,
And wheel the courser in his mid career:

Ah! had he there restrain'd his tyrant hand!
Let me, ye powers, an humbler wreath demand.
No pomps I ask, which crowns and sceptres yield,
Nor dangerous laurels in the dusty field;
Fast by the forest, and the limpid spring,
Give me the warfare of the woods to sing,
To breed my whelps, and healthful press the game,
A mean, inglorious, but a guiltless name.

And now thy female bears in ample womb
The bane of hares, and triumphs yet to come.
No sport, I ween, nor blast of sprightly horn,
Should tempt me then to hurt the whelps unborn.
Unlock'd, in covers let her freely run,

To range thy courts, and bask before the sun;
Near thy full table let the favourite stand,
Strok'd by thy son's, or blooming daughter's hand.
Caress, indulge, by arts the matron bride,
T'improve her breed, and teem a vigorous tribe.

So, if small things may be compar'd with great, And Nature's works the Muses imitate,

So stretch'd in shades, and lull'd by murmuring streams,

Great Maro's breast receiv'd the heavenly dreams.
Recluse, serene, the musing prophet lay,
Till thoughts in embryo, ripening, burst their way
Hence bees in state, and foaming coursers come,
Heroes, and gods, and walls of lofty Rome.

TO APOLLO MAKING LOVE.

FROM MONSIEUR FONTENELLE.

I AM, cry'd Apollo, when Daphne he woo'd,
And panting for breath, the coy virgin pursued,
When his wisdom, in manner most ample, exprest,
The long list of the graces his godship possest:

I'm the god of sweet song, and inspirer of lays; Nor for lays, nor sweet song, the fair fugitive stays; I'm the god of the harp-stop my fairest―in vain ; Nor the harp, nor the harper could fetch her again.

Every plant, every flower, and their virtues I know,

God of light I'm above, and of physic below:
At the dreadful word physic, the nymph fled more

fast;

At the fatal word physic she doubled her haste.

Thou fond god of wisdom, then, alter thy phrase, Bid her view the young bloom, and thy ravishing rays,

Tell her less of thy knowledge, and more of thy charms,

And, my life for't, the damsel will fly to thy arms.