A POEM. Ill 



Claim not such shot would it not be unfair 

 To arrogate the death of this poor hare 1 

 When both together fir'd, what mortal breath 

 Could rightly say to whom she ow'd her death ] 

 But if your Pal says he has done the deed, 

 Tell him you hope he'll always thus succeed, 

 And next time your assistance will not need. 

 E'er let good natur'd friendship reign, nor mar 

 The day's amusement by an ill tim'd jar ; 

 Those that are adepts in the art, disown, 

 In favor of the Youngster, oft their own 

 Bird when well dropt ; this places on good terms 

 The latter with himself, and ne'er concerns 

 The former, whose hard earned reputation 

 Is not so fair a mark for speculation : 

 'Mongst thorough Sportsmen ne'er a word is said, 

 Tis quite sufficient that the game is dead. 



Now on again, full time enough you've stood 

 T' admire the hare a pleasing interlude : 



