_Con_. [Curtseying.] Sir, you're good! And then the hounds, sir! Nothing I admire Beyond the running of the well-trained pack. The training's everything! Keen on the scent! At fault none losing heart!--but all at work! None leaving his task to another!--answering The watchful huntsman's cautions, check, or cheer. As steed his rider's rein! Away they go! How close they keep together! What a pack! Nor turn, nor ditch, nor stream divides them--as They moved with one intelligence, act, will! And then the concert they keep up!--enough To make one tenant of the merry wood, To list their jocund music! _Wild_. You describe The huntsman's pastime to the life. _Con_. I love it! To wood and glen, hamlet and town, it is A laughing holiday! Not a hill-top But's then alive! Footmen with horsemen vie, All earth's astir, roused with the revelry Of vigour, health, and joy! Cheer awakes cheer, While Echo's mimic tongue, that never tires, Keeps up the hearty din! Each face is then Its neighbour's glass--where Gladness sees itself, And at the bright reflection grows more glad! Breaks into tenfold mirth!--laughs like a child! Would make a gift of its heart, it is so free! Would scarce accept a kingdom, 'tis so rich! Shakes hands with all, and vows it never knew That life was life before! _Wild_. Nay, every way You do fair justice, lady, to the chase; But fancies change. _Con_. Such fancy is not mine. _Wild_. I would it were not mine, for your fair sake. I have quite given o'er the chase. _Con_. You say not so! _Wild_. Forsworn, indeed, the sportsman's life, and grown, As you may partly see, town-gentleman. I care not now to mount a steed, unless To amble 'long the street; no paces mind, Except my own, to walk the drawing-room, Or in the ball-room to come off with grace; No leap for me, to match the light coupe; No music like the violin and harp, To which the huntsman's dog and horn I find Are somewhat coarse and homely minstrelsy: Then fields of ill-dressed rustics, you'll confess, Are well exchanged for rooms of beaux and belles; In short, I've ta'en another thought of life-- Become another man! _Con_. The cause, I pray? _Wild_. The cause of causes, lady. _Con_. He's in love! [Aside.] _Wild_. To you, of women, I would name it last; Yet your frank bearing merits like return; I, that did hunt the game, am caught myself In chase I never dreamed of! [Goes out.]