Can sigh, and talk, and laugh, and love with ease.
But O what words, what numbers can express,
What muse can paint Lothario’s late distress?
This I’ll essay, although the talk’s severe,
While Delia drops a sympathetic tear.
And thus it happen’d, on a fatal morn,
Rous’d with the sound of hound and echoing horn,
This charming youth, on rural sports intent,
With some companions to the field he went:
Each hound he summons, they attend him there,