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Both doom'd alike, for sportive Tyrants bled,
REMARKS. VER. 65. The fields are ravish'd etc.] Alluding to the destru&tion made in the New Forest, and the Tyrannies exercised there by William I. P.
IMITATIONS. VER. 65. The fields were ravishd from th’industrious swains, From men their cities, and from Gods their fanes :] Translated from
Templa adimit divis, fora civibus, arva colonis, an old monkish writer, I forget who, P.
Stretch'd o'er the Poor and Church his iron rod,
REMARKS. VER. 80. himself deny’d a grave! ] The place of his interment at Caen in Normandy was claimed by a Gentleman as his inheritance, the moment his servants were going to put him in his tomb : so that they were obliged to compound with the owner before they could perform the King's obsequies.
Ver 81. fecond hope) Richard, second son of William the Conqueror.
IMITATIONS. VER. 89. Miraturque novas frondes et non fua poma. Virg.
Ye vig'rous swains! while youth ferments your
purer fpirits swell the sprightly flood, Now range
the hills, the gameful woods beset, 95 Wind the shrill horn, or spread the waving net. When milder autumn summer's heat succeeds, And in the new-fhorn field the partridge feeds, Before his lord the ready spaniel bounds, Panting with hope, he tries the furrow'd grounds ; But when the tainted gales the game betray, 101 Couch'd close he lies, and meditates the
prey; Secure they trust th’unfaithful field beset, 'Till hov’ring o'er 'em sweeps the swelling net. Thus (if small things we may with great compare) When Albion sends her eager sons to war, 106
Oh may no more a foreign master's rage,
When yellow autumn summer's heat succeeds,
Both morning sports and ev’ning pleasures yields. a Perhaps the Author thought it not allowable to describe the fcason by a circumstance not proper to our climate, the vintage. P.
Some thoughtless Town, with ease and plenty bleft, Near, and more near, the closing lines invest; Sudden they seize th' amaz’d, defenceless prize, And high in air Britannia's standard flies.
See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings: Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.. Ah! what avail his glossy, varying dyes, 115 His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes, The vivid
green his shining plumes unfold, His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold?
Nor yet, when moist Arcturus clouds the sky, The woods and fields their pleasing toils deny. 120 To plains with well-breath'd beagles we repair, And trace the mazes of the circling hare:
Pleas’d, in the Gen'rals fight, the host lie down
nec te tua plurima, Pantheu, Labentem pietas, vel Apollinis insula texit.
(Beasts, urg'd by us, their fellow-beasts pursue,
groves; Where doves in flocks the leaflefs trees o'ershade, And lonely woodcocks haunt the wat’ry glade. He lifts the tube, and levels with his
eye ; Strait a short thunder breaks the frozen sky: 130 Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clam'rous lapwings feel the leaden death: Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare, They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
In genial spring, beneath the quiv’ring shade, Where cooling vapours breathe along the mead, The patient fisher takes his silent stand,