Bore in his pounce [54]a neck-streak’d nightingale,
And snatch’d among the clouds: beneath the stroke
This piteous shriek’d, and that imperious spoke:
“Wretch! why these screams? a stronger holds thee now:
Where’er I shape my course a captive thou,
Maugre thy song, must company my way:
I rend my banquet or I loose my prey.
Senseless is he who dares with power contend:
Defeat, rebuke, despair shall be his end.”
The swift hawk spake, with wings spread wide in air;