That imitate the trumpet's angry sounds; Then to their common standard they repair; The nimble horsemen scour the fields of air; In form of battle drawn, they issue forth, And every knight is proud to prove his worth. Prest for their country's honour, and their king's, } On their sharp beaks they whet their pointed stings, } And exercise their arms, and tremble with their wings. } Full in the midst the haughty monarchs ride; } The trusty guards come up, and close the side; } With shouts the daring foe to battle is defied. } Thus, in the season of unclouded spring, To war they follow their undaunted king, Crowd through their gates, and, in the fields of light, The shocking squadrons meet in mortal fight. Headlong they fall from high, and, wounded, wound, And heaps of slaughtered soldiers bite the ground. Hard hailstones lie not thicker on the plain, Nor shaken oaks such showers of acorns rain. With gorgeous wings, the marks of sovereign sway, The two contending princes make their way; Intrepid through the midst of danger go, Their friends encourage and amaze the foe. With mighty souls in narrow bodies prest, They challenge, and encounter breast to breast; So fixed on fame, unknowing how to fly, And obstinately bent to win or die, That long the doubtful combat they maintain, Till one prevails--for one can only reign. Yet all these dreadful deeds, this deadly fray, } A cast of scattered dust will soon allay, } And undecided leave the fortune of the day. } When both the chiefs are sundered from the fight, Then to the lawful king restore his right; And let the wasteful prodigal be slain, That he, who best deserves, alone may reign. With ease distinguished is the regal race: One monarch wears an honest open face; Shaped to his size, and godlike to behold, His royal body shines with specks of gold, And ruddy scales; for empire he designed, Is better born, and of a nobler kind. That other looks like nature in disgrace: } Gaunt are his sides, and sullen is his face; } And like their grisly prince appear his gloomy race, } Grim, ghastly, rugged, like a thirsty train } That long have travelled through a desert plain, } And spit from their dry chaps the gathered dust again. } The better brood, unlike the bastard crew, Are marked with royal streaks of shining hue; Glittering and ardent, though in body less: From these, at pointed seasons, hope to press Huge heavy honeycombs, of golden juice, Not only sweet, but pure, and fit for use, To allay the strength and hardness of the wine, And with old Bacchus new metheglin join. But, when the swarms are eager of their play, And loath their empty hives, and idly stray, Restrain the wanton fugitives, and take