And teach the reptile hedge to crawl;
Twin pests, confederate, seizing all.
What old man with his gray dog sits,
What blind man, by those sandy pits?
’Tis Manuel![[70]]—and he rests him, where
My fox-earth was his nightly care.—
Ah, come not now to scenes so drear,
Gay hunters! scenes ye cannot cheer.
Ah venture not their threats to brave;
Nor trample on your Needwood’s grave!—