A -POEM. 117 



There's scarce a country in the world but these 



Delightful little birds can live at ease ; 



Our native Epicures are not content 



With what this land supplies, the Continent 



Sends over numbers vast, here kept alive 



In open cages, where right well they thrive. 



Their colour's like a Partridge, save the breast, 



Which lighter is, and not horse- shoed the least. 



Landrails and Quails, a pleasing change confer 



In the day's sport. But p'rhaps you'd now prefer 



T' inspect stout Harry's wallet, as the day 



Is just half sped, successful tramping may, 



Or rather ought, an appetite create ; 



But be your's e'er so good, mind, moderate 



Its longings, and be sure you do not ply 



'Twixt hand and mouth the pistol (if you'd try 



Still on) too oft : for if you'd beat for game 



When your repast is done, 'tis all in vain 



T' expect to kill, with an over-loaded brain. 



