The Chace/Book 1
THE
CHACE.
A
POEM.
The Argument of the First Book.
The Subject proposed. Address to his Royal Highness the Prince. The Origin of Hunting. The rude and unpolish'd Manner of the first Hunters. Beasts at first hunted for Food and Sacrifice. The Grant made by God to Man of the Beasts, &c. The regular Manner of Hunting first brought into this Island by the Normans. The best Hounds and best Horses bred here. The Advantage of this Exercise to us, as Islanders. Address to Gentlemen of Estates. Situation of the Kennel and its several Courts. The Diversion and Employment of Hounds in the Kennel. The different Sorts of Hounds for each different Chace. Description of a perfect Hound. Of sizing and sorting of Hounds, the middle-sized Hound recommended. Of the large deep-mouth'd Hound for hunting the Stag and Otter. Of the Lime Hound; their Use on the Borders of England and Scotland. A Physical Account of Scents. Of good and bad scenting Days. A short Admonition to my Brethren of the Couples.
THE
CHACE.
A
POEM.
The Chace I sing, Hounds, and their various Breed,And no less various Use. O thou Great Prince! Whom Cambria's tow'ring Hills proclaim their Lord, Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive Song. While grateful Citizens with pompous Shew, 5 Rear the triumphal Arch, rich with th' ExploitsOf thy Illustrious House; while Virgins paveThy Way with Flow'rs, and, as the Royal YouthPassing they view, admire, and sigh in vain;While crowded Theatres, too fondly proud 10Of their exotick Minstrels, and shrill Pipes,The Price of Manhood, hail thee with a Song,And Airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding HornInvites thee to the Chace, the Sport of Kings;Image of War, without its Guilt. The Muse 15Aloft on Wing shall soar, conduct with CareThy foaming Courser o'er the steepy Rock,Or on the River Bank receive thee safe,Light-bounding o'er the Wave, from Shore to Shore.Be thou our great Protector, gracious Youth! 20And if in future Times, some envious Prince,Careless of Right and guileful, shou'd invadeThy Britain's Commerce, or shou'd strive in vain To wrest the Balance from thy equal Hand;Thy Hunter-Train, in chearful Green array'd, 25(A Band undaunted, and inur'd to Toils,) Shall compass thee around, dye at thy Feet,Or hew thy Passage thro' th' embattled Foe,And clear thy Way to Fame; inspir'd by theeThe nobler Chace of Glory shall pursue 30Thro' Fire, and Smoke, and Blood, and Fields of Death.
Nature, in her Productions slow, aspiresBy just Degrees to reach Perfection's Height:So mimick Art works leisurely, 'till TimeImprove the Piece, or wise Experience give 35The proper Finishing. When Nimrod bold,That mighty Hunter, first made War on Beasts,And stain'd the Wood-land Green with purple Dye,New, and unpolish'd was the Huntsman's Art; No stated Rule, his wanton Will his Guide. 40With Clubs and Stones, rude Implements of War,He arm'd his savage Bands, a MultitudeUntrain'd; Of twining Osiers form'd, they pitchTheir artless Toiles, then range the desert Hills,And scow'r the Plains below; the trembling Herd 45Start at th' unusual Sound, and clam'rous ShoutUnheard before; surpriz'd alass! to findMan now their Foe, whom erst they deem'd their Lord,But mild, and gentle, and by whom as yetSecure they graz'd. Death stretches o'er the Plain 50Wide-wasting, and grim Slaughter red with Blood:Urg'd on by Hunger keen, they wound, they kill,Their Rage licentious knows no bound; at lastIncumber'd with their Spoils, joyful they bearUpon their Shoulders broad, the bleeding Prey. 55Part on their Altars smokes a Sacrifice To that all-gracious Pow'r, whose bounteous HandSupports his wide Creation; what remainsOn living Coals they broil, inelegantOf Taste, nor skill'd as yet in nicer Arts 60Of pamper'd Luxury. Devotion pure,And strong Necessity, thus first beganThe Chace of Beasts: Tho' bloody was the Deed,Yet without Guilt. For the green Herb aloneUnequal to sustain Man's lab'ring Race, 65[1]Now ev'ry moving Thing that liv'd on EarthWas granted him for Food. So just is Heav'n,To give us in Proportion to our Wants.
Or Chance or Industry in After-TimesSome few Improvements made, but short as yet 70Of due Perfection. In this Isle remoteOur painted Ancestors were slow to learn, To Arms devote, of the politer ArtsNor skill'd nor studious; till from Neustria's CoastsVictorious William, to more decent Rules 75Subdu'd our Saxon Fathers, taught to speakThe proper Dialect, with Horn and VoiceTo chear the busy Hound, whose well-known CryHis list'ning Peers approve with joint Acclaim.From him successive Huntsmen learn'd to join 80In bloody social Leagues, the MultitudeDispers'd, to size, to sort their various Tribes,To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the Pack,
Hail happy Britain! highly favour'd Isle,And Heav'n's peculiar Care! To thee 'tis giv'n 85To train the sprightly Steed, more fleet than thoseBegot by Winds, or the celestial BreedThat bore the great Pelides thro' the PressOf Heroes arm'd, and broke their crowded Ranks; Which proudly neighing, with the Sun begins 90Chearful his Course; and e'er his Beams decline,Has measur'd half thy Surface unfatigued.In thee alone, fair Land of Liberty!Is bred the perfect Hound, in Scent and SpeedAs yet unrivall'd, while in other Climes 95Their Virtue fails, a weak degen'rate Race.In vain malignant Steams, and Winter Fogs Load the dull Air, and hover round our Coasts, The Huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold,Defies the noxious Vapour, and confides 100In this delightful Exercise, to raiseHis drooping Head, and cheer his Heart with Joy.
Ye vig'rous Youths, by smiling Fortune blest With large Demesnes, hereditary Wealth,Heap'd copious by your wise Fore-Fathers Care, 105Hear and attend! while I the Means reveal T'enjoy those Pleasures, for the Weak too strong, Too costly for the Poor: To rein the Steed Swift-stretching o'er the Plain, to chear the Pack Op'ning in Consorts of harmonious Joy, 110But breathing Death. What tho' the Gripe severe Of brazen-fisted Time, and flow Disease Creeping thro' ev'ry Vein, and Nerve unstrung, Afflict my shatter'd Frame, undaunted still, Fix'd as a Mountain Ash, that braves the Bolts 115 Of angry Jove; tho' blasted, yet unfallen; Still can my Soul in Fancy's Mirrour view Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous Scene In all its Splendors deck'd, o'er the full Bowl Recount my Triumphs past, urge others on 120With Hand and Voice, and point the winding Way: Pleas'd with that social sweet Garrulity, The poor disbanded Vet'ran's sole Delight.
First let the Kennel be the Huntsman's Care,Upon some little Eminence erect, 125And fronting to the ruddy Dawn; its CourtsOn either Hand wide op'ning to receiveThe Sun's all-chearing Beams, when mild he shines,And gilds the Mountain Tops. For much the Pack(Rous'd from their dark Alcoves) delight to stretch,And bask, in his invigorating Ray:Warn'd by the streaming Light, and merry Lark,Forth rush the jolly Clan; with tuneful ThroatsThey carol loud, and in grand Chorus join'dSalute the new-born Day. For not alone 135The vegetable World, but Men and BrutesOwn his reviving Influence, and joyAt his Approach. Fountain of Light! if ChanceSome envious Cloud veil thy refulgent Brow,In vain the Muses Aid, untouch'd, unstrung, 140 Lies my mute Harp, and thy desponding BardSits darkly musing o'er th' unfinish'd Lay.
Let no Corinthian Pillars prop the Dome,A vain Expence, on charitable DeedsBetter dispos'd, to cloath the tatter'd Wretch, 145Who shrinks beneath the Blast, to feed the PoorPinch'd with afflictive Want: For Use, not State,Gracefully plain, let each Apartment rise.O'er all let Cleanliness preside, no ScrapsBestrew the Pavement, and no half-pick'd Bones, 150To kindle fierce Debate, or to disgustThat nicer Sense, on which the Sportsman's Hope,And all his future Triumphs must depend.Soon as the growling Pack with eager JoyHave lapp'd their smoking Viands, Morn or Eve, 155From the full Cistern lead the ductile Streams,To wash thy Court well-pav'd, nor spare thy Pains, For much to Health will Cleanliness avail.Seek'st thou for Hounds to climb the rocky Steep,And bruth th'entangled Covert, whose nice Scent 160O'er greasy Fallows, and frequented RoadsCan pick the dubious Way? Banish far offEach noisome Stench, let no offensive SmellInvade thy wide Inclosure, but admitThe nitrous Air, and purifying Breeze. 165
Water and Shade no less demand thy Care:In a large Square th'adjacent Field inclose,There plant in equal Ranks the spreading Elm,Or fragrant Lime; most happy thy Design,If at the Bottom of thy spacious Court, 170A large Canal fed by the crystal Brook,From its transparent Bosom shall reflectThy downward Structure and inverted Grove.Here when the Sun's too potent Gleams annoy The crowded Kennel, and the drooping Pack 175Restless and faint, loll their unmoisten'd Tongues,And drop their feeble Tails; to cooler ShadesLead forth the panting Tribe, soon shalt thou findThe cordial Breeze their fainting Hearts revive:Tumultuous soon they plunge into the Stream, 180There lave their reeking Sides, with greedy JoyGulp down the flying Wave, this Way and thatFrom Shore to Shore they swim, while Clamour loudAnd wild Uproar torments the troubled Flood:Then on the sunny Bank they roll and stretch 185Their dripping Limbs, or else in wanton RingsCoursing around, pursuing and pursued,The merry Multitude disporting play.
But here with watchful and observant Eye,Attend their Frolicks, which too often end 190 In bloody Broils and Death. High o'er thy HeadWave thy resounding Whip, and with a VoiceFierce-menacing o'er-rule the stern Debate,And quench their kindling Rage; for oft in SportBegun, Combat ensues, growling they snarl, 195Then on their Haunches rear'd, rampant they seizeEach others Throats, with Teeth, and Claws, in GoreBesmear'd, they wound, they tear, 'till on the Ground,Panting, half dead the conquer'd Champion lies:Then sudden all the base ignoble Crowd 200Loud-clam'ring seize the helpless worried Wretch,And thirsting for his Blood, drag diff'rent WaysHis mangled Carcass on th' ensanguin'd Plain.O Breasts of Pity void! t'oppress the Weak,To point your Vengeance at the friendless Head, 205 And with one mutual Cry insult the Fall'n!Emblem too just of Man's degen'rate Race.
Others apart by native Instinct led,Knowing Instructor! 'mong the ranker GrassCull each salubrious Plant, with bitter Juice 210Concoctive stor'd, and potent to allayEach vitious Ferment. Thus the Hand divineOf Providence, beneficent and kindTo all his Creatures, for the Brutes prescribesA ready Remedy, and is himself 215Their great Physician. Now grown stiff with Age,And many a painful Chace, the wise old HoundRegardless of the frolick Pack, attendsHis Master's Side, or slumbers at his EaseBeneath the bending Shade; there many a Ring 220Runs o're in Dreams; now on the doubtful FoilPuzzles perplex'd, or Doubles intricate Cautious unfolds, then wing'd with all his Speed, Bounds o'er the Lawn to seize his panting Prey: And in imperfect Whimp'rings speaks his Joy. 225
A diff'rent Hound for ev'ry diff'rent Chace Select with Judgment; nor the tim'rous Hare O'er-match'd destroy, but leave that vile Offence To the mean, murd'rous, coursing Crew; intent On Blood and Spoil. O blast their Hopes, just Heav'n! 230And all their painful Drudgeries repay With Disappointment and severe Remorse. But husband thou thy Pleasures, and give Scope To all her subtle Play: By Nature led A thousand Shifts she tries; t'unravel these 235Th' industrious Beagle twists his waving Tail, Thro' all her Labyrinths pursues, and rings Her doleful Knell. See there with Count'nance blith,And with a courtly grin, the fawning HoundSalutes thee cow'ring, his wide op'ning Nose 240Upward he curls, and his large Sloe-black EyesMelt in soft Blandishments, and humble Joy;His glossy Skin, or Yellow-pied, or Blue,In Lights or Shades by Nature's Pencil drawn,Reflects the various Tints; his Ears and Legs 245Fleckt here and there, in gay enamel'd Pride,Rival the speckled Pard; his Rush-grown TailO'er his broad Back bends in an ample Arch;On Shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands;His round Cat Foot, strait Hams, and wide-spread Thighs, 250And his low-dropping Chest, confess his Speed,His Strength, his Wind, or on the steepy Hill,Or far extended Plain; in ev'ry Part So well proportion'd, that the nicer SkillOf Phidias himself cant' blame thy Choice. 255Of such compose thy Pack. But here a MeanObserve, nor the large Hound prefer, of SizeGigantick; he in the thick-woven CovertPainfully tugs, or in the thorny BrakeTorn and embarrass'd bleeds: But if too small, 260The pigmy Brood in ev'ry Furrow swims;Moil'd in the clogging Clay, panting they lagBehind inglorious; or else shivering creepBenumb'd and faint beneath the shelt'ring Thorn.For Hounds of middle Size, active and strong,Will better answer all thy various Ends,And crown thy pleasing Labours with Success.
As some brave Captain, curious and exact,By his fix'd Standard forms in equal RanksHis gay Battalion, as one Man they move 270 Step after Step, their Size the same, their ArmsFar-gleaming, dart the same united Blaze:Reviewing Generals his Merit own;How regular! How just! And all his CaresAre well repaid, is mighty George approve. 275So model thou thy Pack, if Honour touchThy gen'rous Soul, and the World's just Applause.But above all take heed, nor mix thy HoundsOf diff'rent Kinds; discordant Sounds shall grateThy Ears offended, and a lagging Line 280Of babbling Curs disgrace thy broken Pack.But if th' amphibious Otter be thy Chace,Or stately Stag, that o'er the Woodland reigns;Or if th' harmonious Thunder of the FieldDelight thy ravish'd Ears; the deep-flew'd HoundBreed up with Care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure;Whose Ears down-hanging from his thick round Head Shall sweep the Morning Dew, whose clanging VoiceAwake the Mountain Echo in her Cell,And shake the Forests: The bold Talbot Kind 290Of these the Prime, as white as Alpine Snows;And great their Use of old. Upon the BanksOf Tweed, slow-winding thro' the Vale, the SeatOf War and Rapine once, e'er Britons knewThe Sweets of Peace, or Anna's dread Commands 295To lasting Leagues the haughty Rivals aw'd,There dwelt a pilf'ring Race; well-train'd and skill'dIn all the Mysteries of Theft, the SpoilTheir only Substance, Feuds and War their Sport:Not more expert in ev'ry fraudful Art 300Th' Arch [2] Felon was of old, who by the Tail Brew back his lowing Prize: In vain his Wiles,In vain the Shelter of the cov'ring Rock,In vain the sooty Cloud, and ruddy FlamesThat issu'd from his Mouth; for soon he paid 305His forfeit Life: A Debt how justly dueTo wrong'd Alcides, and avenging Heav'n!Veil'd in the Shades of Night they ford the Stream,Then proling far and near, whate'er they seizeBecomes their Prey; nor Flocks nor Herds are safe, 310Nor Stalls protect the Steer, nor strong barr'd DoorsSecure the fav'rite Horse, Soon as the MornReveals his Wrongs, with ghastly Visage wanThe plunder'd Owner stands, and from his LipsA thousand thronging Curses burst their Way: 315He calls his stout Allies, and in a LineHis faithful Hound he leads, then with a VoiceThat utters loud his Rage, attentive chears: Soon the sagacious Brute, his curling TailFlourish'd in Air, low-bending plies around 320His busy Nose, the steaming Vapour snuffsInquisitive, nor leaves one Turf untried,'Till conscious of the recent Stains, his HeartBeats quick; his snuffling Nose, his active TailAttest his Joy; then with deep op'ning Mouth 325That makes the Welkin tremble, he proclaimsTh'audacious Felon; Foot by Foot he marksHis winding Way, while all the list'ning CrowdApplaud his Reas'nings. O'er the wat'ry Ford,Dry sandy Heaths, and stony barren Hills, 330O'er beaten Paths, with Men and Beasts distain'd,Unerring he pursues; till at the CotArriv'd, and seizing by his guilty ThroatThe Caitif vile, redeems the captive Prey:So exquisitely delicate his Sense! 335
Shou'd some more curious Sportsman here enquire,Whence this Sagacity, this wond'rous Pow'r,Of tracing Step by Step, or Man or Brute?What Guide invisible points out their Way,O'er the dank Marsh, bleak Hill, and sandy Plain?The courteous Muse shall the dark Cause reveal.The Blood that from the Heart incessant rollsIn many a crimson Tide, then here and thereIn smaller Rills disparted, as it flowsPropell'd, the ferous Particles evade 345Thro' th' open Pores, and with the ambient AirEntangling mix. As fuming Vapours rise,And hang upon the gently purling Brook,There by th'incumbent Atmosphere compress'd.The panting Chace grows warmer as he flies, 350And thro' the Net-work of the Skin perspires; Leaves a long-streaming Trail behind, which byThe cooler Air condens'd, remains, unlessBy some rude Storm dispers'd, or rarifiedBy the Meridian's Sun's intenser Heat, 355To ev'ry Shrub the warm Effluvia cling,Hang on the Grass, impregnate Earth and Skies.With Nostrils op'ning wide, o'er Hill, o'er Dale,The vig'rous Hounds pursue, with ev'ry BreathInhale the grateful Steam, quick Pleasures sting 360Their tingling Nerves, while they their Thanks repay,And in triumphant Melody confessThe titillating Joy. Thus on the AirDepend the Hunter's Hopes. When ruddy StreaksAt Eve forebode a blust'ring stormy Day,Or low'ring Clouds blacken the Mountain's Brow,When nipping Frosts, and the keen biting BlastsOf the dry parching East, menace the Trees With tender Blossoms teeming, kindly spareThy sleeping Pack, in their warm Beds of Straw 370Low-sinking at their Ease; listless they shrinkInto some dark Recess, nor hear thy VoiceTho' oft invok'd; or haply if thy CallRouze up the slumb'ring Tribe, with heavy EyesGlaz'd, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their Tails 375Inverted; high on their bent Backs erectTheir pointed Bristles stare, or 'mong the TuftsOf ranker Weeds, each Stomach-healing PlantCurious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn.These inauspicious Days, on other Cares 380Employ thy precious Hours; th'improving FriendWith open Arms embrace, and from his LipsGlean Science, season'd with good-natur'd Wit.But if th'inclement Skies, and angry JoveForbid the pleasing Intercourse, thy Books 385 Invite thy ready Hand, each sacred PageRich with the wise Remarks of Heroes old.Converse familiar with th' illustrious Dead;With great Examples of old Greece or RomeEnlarge thy free-born Heart, and bless kind Heav'n,That Britain yet enjoys dear Liberty,That Balm of Life, that sweetest Blessing, cheapTho' purchas'd with our Blood. Well-bred, polite,Credit thy Calling. See! how mean, how low,The bookless sauntring Youth, proud of the Skut 395That dignifies his Cap, his flourish'd Belt,And rusty Couples gingling by his Side.Be thou of other Mold; and know that suchTransporting Pleasures, were by Heav'n ordain'dWisdom's Relief, and Virtue's great Reward. 400
- ↑ Gen. chap. ix. ver. 3.
- ↑ Cacus, Virg. Æn. Lib. VIII.