A POEM. 115 



Be that as 't may, he is an easy prize 

 By reason of his fat -and mostly dies : 

 But should you let him slip, 'tis oft in vain, 

 Tho' you have mark'd him to an inch, again 

 To get him on the wing, he'll keep before 

 Your dogs, and run the field quite o'er and o'er, 

 Rather than trust his slothful aerial flight 

 Which quickly dooms him to eternal night. 

 He is a handsome bird, of slimmer make 

 Than is the Partridge, and will never take 

 So much to bring him down ; a redder brown 

 His back and wings, his breast and belly own 

 A paler hue, approaching more to white ; 

 And 'tis but rarely that you get a sight 

 Of two within a day : no bird will roam 

 (Save birds of passage) from their nest or home 

 So far away I almost might say never 

 Were two of them e'er seen on wing together 

 During the season ; and they ne'er can be 

 Plenty, because they're kill'd so easily. 



