Classic Poem

A Youth (a Fowler) in a shady Grove
As he a birding went spied runaway Love
Sitting upon a Box-tree branch, and glad
(The Bird seem'd fair) that such a prize he had,
His Gins he all in order doth bestow,
Observing Love who skipt from bough to bough:
Angry at last he watch'd so long in vain,
To an old Husbandman who first did train
Him in that Art he goes, and doth relate
His frustrate sport, and shews him where Love sate.
The old Man shook his hoary head and smil'd;
Pursue (saith he) this Bird no longer Child;
Fly, 'tis an evil beast, whom whilst you can
Avoid thou happy art; but once grown Man
He of himself, who now avoids thy search,
Will freely come, and on thy head will pearch.