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THE CHACE.
Book IV.
Far shall his Pack be fam'd, far sought his Breed,And Princes at their Tables feast those HoundsHis Hand presents, an acceptable Boon. 30
E'er yet the Sun thro' the bright Ram has urg'dHis steepy Course, or Mother Earth unboundHer frozen Bosom to the Western Gale;When feather'd Troops, their social Leagues dissolv'd,Select their Mates, and on the leafless Elm 35The noisy Rook builds high her wicker Nest;Mark well the wanton Females of thy Pack,That curl their taper Tails, and frisking courtTheir pyebald Mates enamour'd; their red EyesFlash Fires impure; nor Rest, nor Food they take,Goaded by furious Love. In sep'rate CellsConfine them now, lest bloody Civil WarsAnnoy thy peaceful State. If left at large,

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