Miscellany Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Morn was fair and still; the Heaven was clear,
And not one sullen Star would disappear:
The Winds were not yet up; but in their Beds
In a deep Sleep had sunk their Drowsie Heads:
The Sluggard Sun had not yet left his Rest,
Nor rais'd his weary Head from Thetis Breast:
When I in Field a Gallant Train did meet,
For Vigorous Sport and Generous Actions fit:

They all on winged Coursers mounted stay
And big with Expectation wait the Prey.

Their curious Spies they first send out to try
And make Discovery of the Enemy:
These scorn, as others do, to trust the Sight,
Abus'd so oft, so seldom in the Right:
Which every palpable Appearance scapes,
And cheats it with Imaginary shapes:
A surer Guide leads these sagacious Spies,
That makes the Nose supply the place of Eyes.

Their cautious Foe, the Fox, had fled the Light,
And wisely before Day had crept from fight;
Gorg'd with his Prey, and in his Brakes immur'd,
Fearless He slept and thought himself secur'd:
But his Pursuers trace his hidden Course,
And follow him by a Magnetick Force,
First they employ their curious Nose to find
Those subtle Atoms, he had left behind:
Those Exhalations in his Footsteps lie,
That from his Breath, or from his Sweat do flie;
So small, they to our Eyes do disappear,
And undiscern'd mix with the Common Air.
These, as i'th' wanton Wind they play about,
Their Noses, Chymist-like, can draw them out;
And following the Stream, these Atoms make,
Run to the place, from whence the Fountain brake.
Mean while the Fox, wak'd with th' unusual Noise,
And with Attentive Ears catching the Voice,
Fears some Pursuers; but doth wonder, how
Thrô all his Mazes they his Course should know:
What Eyes could trace his Footsteps on the Green,
What Witchcraft thus could follow him unseen.
But now not trusting to a Longer stay
Resolves with silent Steps to steal away,

And use those secret Arts, and that Deceit,
With which his raging Followers he could cheat:
But as he thrô the shady Goss doth slide,
By one o'th' Watchfull Huntsmen he's espi'd.

His Joyfull Horn doth quickly tell it out,
And's Eccho'd back again by all the Rout:
A noise more Dismall than the Mandrake's Voice,
A Noise, that chills the Fox's Blood to Ice.
The Sentence not more sad to th' Guilty Man,
Or Cannon to the trembling Indian.
Thunder speaks Musick to't. Death's in each Note,
And sure Destruction breathes from every throat.
A Plague lies in each Breath, He hates to meet;
And wishes oft, his Ears were turn'd to Feet.
Yet to his Arts he flies, and all doth use,
With which so oft he could his Foes abuse.
The River, with his wanton Banks that plays,
Runs not more secret, nor more winding Ways,
Nor Dancing Atoms change more quick their Round,
Nor Snow, that hovers loth to touch the Ground.
But all (alass!) in vain his Arts he tries,
In vain Acts over all his Treacheries:
And like those, that would from Diseases run,
He flies a while from what he cannot shun:
Nor can He hope to scape, thô ne'er so fleet,
That Death, that's brought him by an Hundred feet.
For the quick-scented Dogs thrô all the Ways,
And those strange Shapes, that cautious Reynard plays,
With an unerring Course pursue their Chase,
Follow him, where no Tract is left behind,
And catch the Scent, that dances in the Wind;
Extract it from the Mass of other Parts,
And find it, thô mix'd with a thousand Arts.

Noses so quick and pure, methinks, should find
The Secret tract, an Angel leaves behind:
And might with little pains in time be brought
To trace the wandring Passage of a Thought!

Thus, while they follow with an eager Cry,
And chase their faint and panting Enemy,
O'th' suddain all was hush'd, and every Throat
In a dull silence choak'd his joyfull Note.
No Shout, nor Noise, did rend the parting Air,
Only the raging Huntsmen fret and swear.
All ply their busie Noses, round they coast
To catch that Scent, which in the Crowd was lost:
Till the Grave

One of the Finders.

Talbot with a Spanish pace
The long-lost and neglected Scent doth trace;
Finds what their eager Hast had left behind,
And catch'd it Just dissolving in the Wind.
He gives the Signal; strait they follow, all
With their Loud throats do one another call,
And, striving to regain the Time, they'd lost,
With doubled Hast after their Foe they post:
And with such winged Speed they now pursue;
The unknown Foe is quickly brought to view.

When lo! a mixed Crowd from th' neighbouring Town,
Warn'd by the Noise, tumultuously came down;
All, arm'd with Pitchfork, Spit, Flail, Spade and Pole,
To kill the Fox, that had their Poultry stole,
Outnoise the Dogs, and with loud Curses fill
The Air with sound of Follow, follow, kill!
“Kill him, cries One, he stole my Peckled Hen,
“And got my fatted Capons out o'th' Pen.
Another Woman lets her Tongue fly loose,
And cries, “the Thief did kill her Brooding Goose.
“My Cock, saith One, my Turkey, saith Another,
“My pretty, Copled, Pullet, cries the tother,

Then all poor Reynard with fell Curses rate;
With Noises rude and inarticulate.

The Amazed Fox, astonish'd at the Noise
Much of the Dogs, more of the Women's Cries;
Seeing his useless Arts no help could show,
Resolves at last to see, what Force would doe:
Summons his Vigor, doth new Courage rear,
And down the Wind his even Course doth steer.
So some smooth River, loth to leave the Plains,
And those fresh Fields, where Mirth and Pleasure reigns,
In many wandring Turns his Passage takes,
A thousand Stops, a thousand Windings makes:
Plays with his flowry Banks, oft turns his Head
And with full Eyes o'relooks his watry Bed,
Courts every wanton Shade, and feigns Delay,
Untill at last, unable more to stay,
Forc'd by the raging Streams, that do descend,
His direct Course He to the Sea doth bend.

The Fox begins; the Chase they all pursue,
Swift, as wing'd Thoughts e're to far Countries flew:
Light's slow to them, the sluggish Wind doth stay;
They catch that Scent, his Wings had bore away.
All that by Force or Courage could be shown,
That could by Swiftness, or by Art be done;
Th' Industrious Fox did for his Safety try;—
“But there's no struggling with our Destiny.
He's grown Infectious to himself;—They find
His Course by th' fatal Breath, he left behind.
His Breathing brings his Ruine on; that Breath,
That gives to others Life, to him gives Death.
Death doth from Breathing, or Refraining grow;
To Breathe is Death, and not to Breathe, is so.

At last the Fox unable more to strive,
Unable more their Fury to survive:

Seeing i'th' Dog's approach his certain Fate,
Resolves to sell his Life at a dear rate.
So some great Hero, compass'd by his Foes,
Death and Destruction all around him strows:
With fiery Rage on all Opposers flies,
And makes a Bulwark of slain Enemies:
Sure not to Live, unwilling yet to dy,
Till he hath left a dear-bought Victory.
Thus the brave Fox, when all his hopes were dead,
And no way left to hide his loathed Head,
Resolves, he will not unrevenged dy,
Nor fall a tame and heartless Enemy:
With Rage salutes the First; his bloody Jaws
Fix'd on the next, do make the Others pawse,
And keep an awfull Distance; Till they all
With one accord upon their Foe do fall.
In vain he strives, in vain he fights; for soon
Being by the Raging Tempest overthrown:
He with a faint and trembling Voice doth cry;
“I liv'd by Rapine and by Rapine dy.