PUBLISHED FEB 1, 1825, BY JOHN SHARPE, LONDON
The subject proposed - Address to his Royal Highness Frederick Prince of Wales-The origin of hunting-The rude and unpolished 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 NormansThe 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 chase-Description of a perfect hound-Of sizing and sorting of hounds; the middle-sized hound recommended -Of the large deep-mouthed 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 Chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed,
And no less various use. O thou, great prince!
Whom Cambria's towering hills proclaim their lord,
Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song.
While grateful citizens with pompous show
Rear the triumphal arch, rich with the exploits
Of thy illustrious house; while virgins pave
Thy way with flowers, and, as the royal youth
Passing they view, admire, and sigh in vain ;
While crowded theatres, too fondly proud
Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes,
The price of manhood, hail thee with a song,
And airs soft warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn
Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings;
Image of war, without its guilt. The Muse
Aloft on wing shall soar, conduct with care
Thy 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!
And if in future times some envious prince,
Careless of right and guileful, should invade
Thy Britain's commerce, or should strive in vain
To wrest the balance from thy equal hand,
Thy hunter-train, in cheerful green array'd
(A band undaunted, and inured to toils),
Shall compass thee around, die at thy feet,
Or hew thy passage through the embattled foe,
And clear thy way to fame; inspired by thee,
The nobler chase of glory shall pursue [death.
Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of
Nature, in her productions slow, aspires
By just degrees to reach perfection's height:
So mimic Art works leisurely, till time
Improve the piece, or wise experience give
The proper finishing. When Nimrod bold,
That mighty hunter, first made war on beasts,
And stain'd the woodland green with purple dye,
New and unpolish'd was the huntsman's art;
No stated rule, his wanton will his guide.
With clubs and stones, rude implements of war,
He arm'd his savage bands, a multitude
Untrain'd; of twining osiers form'd, they pitch
Their artless toils, then range the desert hills,
And scour the plains below; the trembling herd
Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout
Unheard before; surprised, alas! to find [lord
Man now their foe, whom erst they deem'd their
But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet
Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain
Wide-wasting, and grim slaughter red with blood":
Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill,
Their rage licentious knows no bound; at last,
Encumber'd with their spoils, joyful they bear
Upon their shoulders broad the bleeding prey.
Part on their altars smokes a sacrifice
To that all gracious Power, whose bounteous hand
Supports his wide creation; what remains
On living coals they broil, inelegant
Of taste, nor skill'd as yet in nicer arts
Of pamper'd luxury. Devotion pure,
And strong necessity, thus first began
The chase of beasts; though bloody was the deed,
Yet without guilt for the green herb alone
Unequal to sustain man's labouring race,
Now every moving thing that lived on earth
Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven,
To give us in proportion to our wants.
Or chance or industry in after-times
Some few improvements made, but short, as yet,
Of due perfection. In this isle remote
Our painted ancestors were slow to learn,
To arms devote, of the politer arts
Nor skill'd nor studious; till from Neustria's coasts
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