To see a fellow of a summer's morning,
With a large fox-hound of a slumberous eye,
And a slim gun, go slowly lounging by —
About to give the feathered bipeds warning,
That probably they may be shot hereafter —
Excites in me a quiet kind of laughter.
For, though I am no lover of the sport
Of harmless murder, yet it is to me
About the laziest thing on earth, to see
A corpulent person, breathing with a snort,
Go on a shooting-frolic all alone:
For well I know that when he's out of town,
He and his dog and gun will all lie down,
And undestructive sleep, till game and light are flown.