It chanc'd one Evening, ('twas the Lover's Day)
Conceal'd in Brakes the jealous Kindred lay;
When  wand'ring, mus'd along the Plain,
And fix'd his Seat where Love had fix'd the Scene:
A strong Suspicion strait possest their Mind,
(For Poets ever were a gentle kind.)
But when  near the Passage stood,
Flung back a doubtful Look, and shot the Wood,
"Now take, (at once they cry) thy due Reward,"
And urg'd with erring Rage, assault the Bard.
His Corps the Sea receiv'd. The Dolphins bore
('Twas all the Gods would do) the Corps to Shore.