A POEM. 147 



Away ; and then, disdaining coward fear, 



Spite of the leaden compliments, will near 



You light again ; not so the larger kind, 



For if some distance you should lag behind 



The dog, they rise : of these, throughout the year 



Some e'er remain, in different parts appear ; 



But little Jack will always make away, 



Unless disabled, and oblig'd to stay. 



The shot that best is found to seal their fate, 



Most Sportsmen take to be the number eight. 



Having, as far as in my power has lain, 

 Spoken of each, and every sort of game 

 Our land affords, and plac'd before your view 

 How you will best succeed each to pursue, 

 By means legitimate and Sportsmanlike ; 

 Before I close, a few remarks I'll write, 

 And cannot too vehemently declaim 

 Against a bastard sort of sport, by name 

 Battue ! where, innocent of Sportsmen's joys, 

 (Watching the dogs, hearing their tuneful voice) 



