Hunts not the grinning wolf or foamy boar, And trembles at the lion’s hungry roar. Thee too, Adonis, with a lover’s care, She warns, if warn’d, thou wouldst avoid the snare: “To furious animals advance not nigh; Ply those that follow, follow those that fly; ’Tis chance alone must the survivors save, Whene’er brave spirits will attempt the brave. Oh, lovely youth! in harmless sports delight; Provoke not beasts, which, arm’d by nature, fight: For me, if not thyself, vouchsafe to fear; Let not thy thirst of glory cost me dear. Boars know not how to spare a blooming age, No sparkling eyes can soothe the lion’s rage: Nor all thy charms a savage breast can move, Which have so deeply touch’d the queen of love. When bristled boars from beaten thickets spring, In grinded tusks a thunderbolt they bring: The daring hunters lions roused devour; Vast is their fury, and as vast their power: Cursed be their tawny race: if thou wouldst hear What kindled thus my hate, then lend an ear; The wondrous tale I will to thee unfold, How the fell monsters rose from crimes of old: