I wish I were as I have been
Hunting the hart in forests green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me!
_The Lady of the Lake: Lay of the Imprisoned Huntsman,
Canto VI_. SIR W. SCOTT.
Oh! what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse's back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song!
_The Hunter's Song_. B.W. PROCTER _(Barry Cornwall)_.
See from the brake the whirring pheasant springs,
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings;
Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound,
Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground.
_Windsor Forest_. A. POPE.
But as some muskets so contrive it,
As oft to miss the mark they drive at,
And though well aimed at duck or plover,
Bear wide, and kick their owners over.
_McFingal, Canto I_. J. TRUMBULL.
HYPOCRISY.
Oh, for _a forty-parson power_ to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
Not practise!
_Don Juan, Canto X_. LORD BYRON.
For neither man nor angel can discern
Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks
Invisible, except to God alone,
By his permissive will, through heaven and earth.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. III_. MILTON.
Away, and mock the time with fairest show;
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
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