ook at master,
The cause of all the late disaster,
Who gives a stamp, and raps on oath
At gun, or birds, or maybe both;
P'rhaps curses you, and all your kin,
To raise the hair upon your skin!
Then loads, rams down, and fits new caps,
To go and hunt for more miss-haps!"

"Yes! yes! but, sick and sad, you feel
But one long wish to go to heel;
You cannot scent for cutting mugs--
Your nose is turning up, like Pug's;
You can't hold up, but plod and mope;
Your tail like sodden end of rope,
That o'er a wind-bound vessel's side
Has soak'd in harbor, tide and tide.
On thorns and scratches, till that moment
Unnoticed, you begin to comment;
You never felt such bitter brambles,
Such heavy soil, in all your rambles!
You never felt your fleas so vicious!
Till, sick of life so unpropitious,
You wish at last, to end the passage,
That you were dead, and in your sassage!"

"Yes! that's a miss from end to end!
But, zounds! you draw so well, my friend,
You've made me shiver, skin and gristle,
As if I heard my master's whistle!
Though how you came to learn the knack--
I thought your Squire was quite a crack!"

"And so he is!--He always hits--
And sometimes hard, and all to bits.
But ere with him our tongues we task,
I've still one little thing to ask;
Namely, with such a random master,
Of course you sometimes want a plaster?
Such missing hands make game of more
Than ever pass'd for game before--
A pounded pig--a widow's cat--
A patent ventilating hat--
For shot, like mud, when thrown so thick,
Will find a coat whereon to stick!"

"What! accidentals, as they're term'd?
No never--none--since I was worm'd--
Not e'en the Keeper's fatted calves,--
My master does not miss by halves!
His shot are like poor orphans, hurl'd
Abroad upon the whole wide world,--
But whether they be blown to dust,
As often-times I think they must,
Or melted down too near the sun,
What comes of them is known to none--
I never found, since I could bark,
A Barn that bore my master's mark!"

"Is that the case?--Why then, my brother,
Would we could swap with one another!
Or take the Squire, with all my heart,
Nay, all my liver, so we part!
He'll hit you hares--(he uses cartridge)
He'll hit you cocks--he'll hit a partridge;
He'll hit a snipe; he'll hit a pheasant;
He'll hit--he'll hit whatever's present;
He'll always hit,--as that's your wish--
His pepper never lacks a dish!"

"Come, come, you banter,--let's be serious;
I'm sure that I am hal