A POEM. 135 



Those of the hill come next the marsh the last : 

 Betwixt the which and first, we find a vast 

 Difference in flavour ; and, in truth, I've known 

 Them hardly fit for table when full grown. 

 Once I remember, that I twice had fir'd 

 At the same hare, each time the flax retir'd 

 In plenty from her back ; still on she went, 

 Regardless of the leaden message sent 

 To stay her speed, and yet my wond'ring eyes 

 I could not off her take, for sheer surprise ; 

 When full three hundred yards away she sped, 

 In open field I saw her fall stone dead. 

 I mention this to warn you not to pay 

 Your compliments to one when farther 'way 

 Than forty yards at most, for tho' you may 

 Strike her nine times in ten, yet will she try, 

 And once in thrice succeed, unseen to die. 

 Their jackets at this season thicker are, 

 Therefore it stands to reason that so far 

 They can't be kill'd ; where land lies on the slope, 

 In trying hedges, you may justly hope, 



