While the hope of succeeding their bosoms still cheer’d.
On the Woodcock they call’d; on the Partridge and Pheasant;
And, killing time thus, thought exceedingly pleasant:
Till grown somewhat weary, in order to rest,
A sandwich they took at the Guinea-Fowl’s nest.
But how shall we count all the visits they pay,
To the Raven, the Magpie, the Rook, and the Jay?
To the Finches of fashion, the Gold and the Green,
To the Blackbird, the Thrush, and the Aberdavine?