Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams, The big round drops run trickling down his sides, With sweat and blood distained. Look back and view The strange confusion of the vale below, Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade, In vain the impatient rider frets and swears, With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides; He can no more: his stiff unpliant limbs _120 Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands, For every cruel curse returns a groan, And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief Can view that pampered steed, his master's joy, His minion, and his daily care, well clothed, Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost, No labour spared; who, when the flying chase Broke from the copse, without a rival led The numerous train: now a sad spectacle Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence, _130 Drove like a panniered ass, and scourged along. While these with loosened reins, and dangling heels, Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear Their weights; another in the treacherous bog Lies floundering half engulfed. What biting thoughts Torment the abandoned crew! Old age laments His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies now The short Pygmean race, he whilom kenn'd With proud insulting leer. A chosen few _140 Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge, 'Tis there the villain lurks; they hover round And claim him as their own. Was I not right? See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags, And sweeps the mire impure; from his wide jaws His tongue unmoistened hangs; symptoms too sure Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields To black despair. But one loose more, and all _150 His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots And leafless elms return the joyous sounds. Through every homestall, and through every yard, His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies; Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes Plunging he wades besmeared, and fondly hopes In a superior stench to lose his own: But faithful to the track, the unerring hounds With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue. _160 And now distressed, no sheltering covert near, Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls with gore Distained attest his guilt. There, villain, there Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence The pack inquisitive, with clamour loud, Drag out their trembling prize; and on his blood With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead: And all the assembled village shouts for joy. The farmer who beholds his mortal foe _170 Stretched at his feet, applauds the glorious deed, And grateful calls us to a short repast! In the full glass the liquid amber smiles, Our native product. And his good old mate