May find conceal’d delicious grub or worm,
To which his maw insatiate forebodes
Certain destruction, while, behind or bush,
Or pale encompassing the farmer’s yard,
Skulks Reynard, fraught with many a crafty wile
T’ensnare the feather’d race, who, if they stray
Beyond the precincts of their mother’s ken,
He straight purloins them from her careful wing,
With his sharp teeth torments their tender frame,
And with the crimson gore distains their sides,