Classic Poem

Cheered as the woods (where new waked choirs they meet)
Are all; and now dispose their choice relays
Of horse and hounds, each like each other fleet;
Which best, when with themselves compared, we praise.

To them old forest spies, the harbourers,
With haste approach, wet as still weeping night,
Or deer that mourn their growth of head with tears,
When the defenceless weight does hinder flight.

And dogs, such whose cold secrecy was meant
By Nature for surprise, on these attend;
Wise temp'rate lime-hounds that proclaim no scent,
Nor harb'ring will their mouths in boasting spend.

Yet vainlier far than traitors boast their prize,
(On which their vehemence vast rates does lay,
Since in that worth their treason's credit lies)
These harb'rers praise that which they now betray.

Boast they have lodged a stag, that all the race
Out-runs of Croton horse, or Regian hounds;
A stag made long since royal in the chase,
If kings can honour give by giving wounds.


But now, as his last remedy to live,
(For ev'ry shift for life kind Nature makes,
Since life the utmost is which she can give)
Cool Adige from the swoln bank he takes.

But this fresh bath the dogs will make him leave,
Whom he sure nosed as fasting tigers found;
Their scent no north-east wind could e'er deceive
Which drives the air, nor flocks that foul the ground.

Swift here the flyers and pursuers seem;
The frighted fish swim from their Adige,
The dogs pursue the deer, he the fleet stream,
And that hastes too to th' Adriatic sea.

Refreshed thus in this fleeting element,
He up the steadfast shore did boldly rise;
And soon escaped their view, but not their scent,
That faithful guide, which even conducts their eyes.


For on the shore the hunters him attend;
And whilst the chase grew warm as is the day,
(Which now from the hot zenith does descend)
He is embossed, and wearied to a bay.

Yet life he so esteems, that he allows
It all defence his force and rage can make;
And to the eager dogs such fury shows,
As their last blood some unrevenged forsake.