Now with black London's close and torrid street
Stern Caledonia's heathered moors compete.
Lo, well equipped with cartridge-bag and gun,
Concurrent streams of rank and fashion run
Where, though the birds be strong upon the wing,
Not unrewarded sounds the frequent ping;
Where dealing fate to feather (and to fur)
The early sportsman is perceived astir,
And in the lengthy language of the chase,
A bird's no bird, but merely half a brace.