If hap'ly  Will be now inclin'd
To range the Woods, or chace the flying Hind;
Soon as the Sun awakes, the sprightly Court
Leave their Repose, and hasten to the Sport.
In lessen'd Royalty, and humble State,
Thy King, , descends to wait,
'Till  comes. She comes: a Milk-white Steed,
Mixture of , and  Breed,
Sustains the Nymph: her Garments flying loose
(As the  Maids, or  use)
And half her Knee, and half her Breast appear,
By Art, like Negligence, disclos'd, and bare.
Her left Hand guides the hunting Courser's Flight:
A Silver Bow She carries in her Right:
And from the golden Quiver at her Side,
Rustles the Ebon Arrow's feather'd Pride.
Saphirs and Diamonds on her Front display
An artificial Moon's increasing Ray.
, Huntress, Mistress of the Groves,
The fav'rite  speaks, and looks, and moves.
Her, as the present Goddess, I obey:
Beneath her Feet the captive Game I lay.
The mingl'd Chorus sings  Fame:
Clarions and Horns in louder Peals proclaim
Her Mystic Praise: the vocal Triumphs bound
Against the Hills: the Hills reflect the Sound.