Moil’d in the clogging clay, panting they lag Behind inglorious; or else shivering they 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, if mighty George approve. So model thou thy pack, if honour touch Thy generous 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 the amphibious otter be thy chase, Or stately stag, that o’er the woodland reigns; Or if the harmonious thunder of the field Delight thy ravish’d ears; the deep-flew’d hound Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure, [Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 286-310.] 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 through the vale, the seat Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew The sweets of peace, or Anna’s dread commands To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed, There dwelt a pilfering 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 every fraudful art The arch felon was of old, who by the tail Drew back his lowing prize: in vain his wiles, In vain the shelter of the covering rock, In vain the sooty cloud, and ruddy flames, That issued from his mouth; for soon he paid His forfeit life; a debt how justly due To wrong’d Alcides, and avenging Heaven! Veil’d in the shades of night, they ford the stream, Then prowling 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 [Sidenote: BOOK I THE CHASE v. 311-335.]