Page:The Chace - Somervile (1735).djvu/56

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THE CHACE.
Book II.
No Clamour loud, no frantick Joy be heard,Lest the wild Hound run gadding o'er the Plain 145Untractable, nor hear thy chiding Voice.Now gently put her off; see how directTo her known Muse she flies! Here, Huntsman, bring(But without hurry) all thy jolly Hounds,And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop, 150And seem to plough the Ground! then all at onceWith greedy Nostrils snuff the fuming SteamThat glads their flutt'ring Hearts. As Winds let looseFrom the dark Caverns of the blust'ring God,They burst away, and sweep the dewy Lawn. 155Hope gives them Wings, while she's spur'd on by Fear.The Welkin rings, Men, Dogs, Hills, Rocks, and WoodsIn the full Consort join. Now, my brave Youths,Stripp'd for the Chace, give all your Souls to Joy!

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