To My Worthy Friend, Mr Wase, The Translator Of Gratius.[1]

1 Thus, by the music, we may know When noble wits a-hunting go, Through groves that on Parnassus grow.

2 The Muses all the chase adorn; My friend on Pegasus is borne; And young Apollo winds the horn.

3 Having old Gratius in the wind, No pack of critics e'er could find, Or he know more of his own mind.

4 Here huntsmen with delight may read How to choose dogs for scent or speed, And how to change or mend the breed;

5 What arms to use, or nets to frame, Wild beasts to combat or to tame; With all the myst'ries of that game.

6 But, worthy friend! the face of war In ancient times doth differ far From what our fiery battles are.

7 Nor is it like, since powder known, That man, so cruel to his own, Should spare the race of beasts alone.

8 No quarter now, but with the gun Men wait in trees from sun to sun, And all is in a moment done.

9 And therefore we expect your next Should be no comment, but a text To tell how modern beasts are vex'd.

10 Thus would I further yet engage Your gentle Muse to court the age With somewhat of your proper rage;

11 Since none does more to Phoebus owe, Or in more languages can show Those arts which you so early know.

'Mr. Wase': Wase was a fellow of Cambridge, tutor to Lord Herbert, and translator of Grathis on 'Hunting,' a very learned man.