BUT, hark! I hear a louder Music sound;
From Woods and Vales the various Notes rebound:
'Tis  KING pursues the Royal Chace;
The nimble Stag skims o'er th'unbending Grass:
The Way which Fear directs, he trembling tries;
Nor knows, where Fear directs, or where he flies:
A hundred diff'rent Sounds assail his Ears;
A Death, in ev'ry diff'rent Sound, he fears:
And now he faintly moves a slower Pace,
And closer now the Hounds pursue the Chace;
Till, in Despair, back on his Foes he turns;
Makes feeble Efforts with his branchy Horns;
Short is the Combat, soon he yields his Breath,
And gasping falls, and trembling pants in Death.