Page:Hark, the hollow woods resounding.pdf/7



Ah, men, what silly things you are,

To women thus to humble;

Who, fowler-like, but spreads her snare,

Or at her silly game takes aim,

Pop pop, and down you tumble.

Ah, men, &c.

She marks you down, fly where you will,

Over clover, grass, or stubble—

Can wing you, feather you, or kill,

Just as she takes the trouble.

Ah, men, &c.

Then fly not from us, 'tis in vain,

We know the art of setting;

Is well as fighting, we can train

The shyest man our net in,

Ah, men, &c.