Upright he walks, on Pasterns firm and straight;His Motions easy; prancing in his Gate.The first to lead the Way, to tempt the Flood;To pass the Bridge unknown, nor fear the trembling Wood.Dauntless at empty Noises; lofty neck'd;Sharp headed, Barrel belly'd, broadly back'd.Brawny his Chest, and deep, his Colour gray;For Beauty dappled, or the brightest Bay:Faint white and Dun will scarce the Rearing pay.The fiery Courser, when he hears from far,The sprightly Trumpet, and the shouts of War,Pricks up his Ears; and trembling with Delight,Shifts place, and paws; and hopes the promis'd Fight.On his right Shoulder his thick Mane reclin'd,Ruffles at speed; and dances in the Wind.His horny Hoofs are jetty black, and round;His Chine is double; starting, with a boundHe turns the Turf, and shakes the solid Ground.Fire from his Eyes, Clouds from his Nostrils flow:He bears his Rider headlong on the Foe.Such was the Steed in Graecian Poets fam'd,Proud Cyllarus, by Spartan Castor tam'd:Such Coursers bore to Fight the God of Thrace;And such, Achilles, was thy warlike Race.In such a Shape, old Saturn did restrainHis Heav'nly Limbs, and flow'd with such a Mane.When, half surpriz'd, and fearing to be seen,The Leacher gallop'd from his Jealous Queen:Ran up the ridges of the Rocks amain;And with shrill Neighings fill'd the Neigb'ring Plain.But worn with Years, when dire Diseases come,Then hide his not Ignoble Age, at Home:In Peace t' enjoy his former Palms and Pains;And gratefully be kind to his Remains.0