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Lash after lash, and with thy threatening voice,
Nor is 't enough to breed; but to preserve,
hounds, Guides of thy pack, though but in number few, Are yet of great account; shall oft untie The Gordian knot, when reason at a stand Puzzling is lost, and all thy art is vain. O'er clogging fallows, o'er dry plaster'd roads, O'er floated meads, o'er plains with flocks distain’d, Rank-scenting, these must lead the dubious way. As party-chiefs in senates who preside, With pleaded reason and with well-turn'd speech, Conduct the staring multitude ; so these Direct the pack, who with joint cry approve, And loudly boast discoveries not their own.
Unnumber'd accidents, and various ills, Attend thy pack, hang hovering o'er their heads, And point the way that leads to Death's dark cave. Short is their span ; few at the date arrive Of ancient Argus in old Homer's song So highly honour'd: kind, sagacious brute ! Not ev'n Minerva's wisdom could conceal Thy much-lov'd master from thy nicer sense.
Dying his !ord he own’d, view'd him all o'er
Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing,
When Sirius reigns, and the Sun's parching beams
But, this neglected, soon expect a change,
He droops his pensive head, his trembling limbs No more support his weight ; abject he lies, Durnb, spiritless, benumb’d; till Death at last Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief.
Or, if outrageous grown, behold, alas ! A yet more dreadful scene ; his glaring eyes Redden with fury, like some angry boar Churning he foams; and on his back erect His pointed bristles rise; his tail incury'd He drops, and with harsh broken howlings rends The poison-tainted air ; with rough hvarse voice Incessant bays, and snuff's the infectious brecze; This way and that he stares aghast, and starts At his own shade : jealous, as if he deem'd The world his foes. If haply towards the stream He cast his roving eye, cold horrour chills His soul ; averse he flies, trembling, appall’d. Now frantic to the kennel's utmost verge Raving he runs, and deals destruction round. The pack Aly diverse ; for whate'er he meets Vengeful he bites, and every bite is death.
If now perchance through the weak fence escap'd Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth Inhales the cooling breeze; nor man, nor beast, He spares implacable. The hunter-horse, Once kind associate of his sylvan toils, (Who haply now without the kennel's mound Crops the rank mead, and listening hears with joy The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes His raptur'd sense,) a wretched victim falls. Unliappy quadruped ! no more, alas ! Shali thy fond master with his voice applaud
Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his hand
Hence to the kennel, Muse, return, and view With heavy heart that hospital of woe; Where Horrour stalks at large! insatiate Death Sits growling o'er his prey: each hour presents A different scene of ruin and distress. How busy art thou, Fate! and how severe Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead Promiscuous lie; o'er these the living fight In one eternal broil ; not conscious why Nor yet with whom. So drunkards, in their cups, Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble
Huntsman ! it much behoves thee to avoid The perilous debate! Ah! rouse up all Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground With careful step. Thy fires unquench'd preserve, As erst the vestal flames ; the pointed steel In the hot embers hide; and if surpriz'd Thou feelst the deadly bite, quick urge it home Into the recent sore, and cauterize The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread th' event: Vulcan shall save when Æsculapius fails.
Here should the knowing Muse recount the means
Sing, philosophic Muse, the dire effects