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THE CHACE.
Book III.
Th' Advantage spies; and at one sidelong GlanceRips up his Groin. Wounded, he rears aloft,And plunging, from his Back the Rider hurlsPrecipitant; then bleeding spurns the Ground,And drags his reeking Entrails o'er the Plain.Mean while the surly Monster trots along,But with unequal Speed; for still they wound,Swift-wheeling in the spacious Ring. A WoodOf Darts upon his Back he bears; adown 340His tortur'd Sides, the crimson Torrents rollFrom many a gaping Font. And now at lastStagg'ring he falls, in Blood and Foam expires.
But whither roves my devious Muse, intentOn antique Tales? While yet the royal Stag 345Unsung remains. Tread with respectful AweWindsor's green Glades; where Denham, tuneful Bard,Charm'd once the list'ning Dryads, with his Song

Sublimely

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