A POEM. 



81 



Your mind to think they male and female were 

 Of the same class ; the cock's the handsomer, 

 Being jet black ; the hen, a reddish brown, 

 More like a partridge. All these tribes are known 

 By naked skin, in form above the eyes 

 Like eye-brows, and of splendid scarlet dyes : 

 The flesh of these is thought so delicate, 

 We hear the species has become of late 

 So scarce, that even in their own domains, 

 The Sportsman often for his arduous pains 

 Reaps no reward. ' Enough,' you'll say, of these ; 

 ' Of game more tangible, we, if you please, 

 Would lend a willing ear.' Well, the Black Game, 

 Its size, and whereabouts, I'll quickly name. 

 There's not a bird, yclep'd game, I should suppose, 

 Whose death such joy to Sportsmen e'er bestows, 

 As a fine old Black Cock's ; those who shoot fair, 

 Respect the hens, as these birds do not pair : 

 There's no mistaking her for him, his size 

 So much superior is, a four pound prize, 



