Sleep, Sleep in Peace, ye Monsters of the Wood:
No more my early Horn shall wake———
So when bright Venus yielded up her Charms,
The blest Adonis languish’d in her Arms;
His idle Horn on flagrant Myrtle hung,
His Arrows scatter’d, and his Bow unstrung;
Obscure in Covert lay his dreaming Hounds,
And bay’d the fancy’d Boar with feeble Sounds:
For nobler Sports he quits the savage Fields,
And all the Hero to the Lover yields.