September 2, 1675

WILLIAM SOMERVILE ...[September 2,1675 to July 19, 1742], English poet, eldest son of a country gentleman, ... was educated at Winchester College and at New College, Oxford. After his father's death in 1705 he lived on his estate, devoting himself especially to field sports, which supplied the subjects of his best-known poems. His publications were The Two Springs (1725), a fable; Occasional Poems...(1727); The Chase (1735) Hobbinol, or the Rural Games (1740), a burlesque poem; and Field Sports (1742), a poem on hawking. Somervile died on the 19th of July 1742.

This next account varies from the above, and I include it simply because this writer has been forgotten and more context is useful:

William Somervile was born in Colwich, Staffordshire. He was educated at Winchester College (1690-94) before entering New College Oxford at the age of 18 (1694); he also studied at the Middle Temple (1696). Somervile courted Joseph Addison and was a close friend and neighbor of William Shenstone. In his later years he was a member of the Patriot opposition with Gilbert West and James Thomson, living the life of a proud if impoverished country gentleman and writing about it in Miltonic verse.

From, The Chace, (1735) we quote a few paragraphs to get a sense of the life of an "impoverished country gentleman," in 18th century England. Just like Downton Abbey we start with the exterior green expanse.

....
Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome, 

A vain expence, on charitable deeds 

Better dispos'd, to clothe the tattered wretch 

Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor 

Pinch'd with afflictive want: for use, not state, 

Gracefully plain, let each apartment rise. 

O'er all let cleanliness preside, no scraps 

Bestrew the pavement, and no half-pick'd bones, 

To kindle fierce debate, or to disgust 

That nicer sense, on which the sportsman's hope, 

And all his future triumphs must depend. 

Soon as the growling pack with eager joy 

Have lapp'd their smoking viands, morn or eve, 

From the full cistern lead the ductile streams, 

To wash thy court well-pav'd, nor spare thy pains, 

For much to health will cleanliness avail. 

Seek'st thou for hounds to climb the rocky steep, 

And brush the' entangled covert, whose nice scent 

O'er greasy fallows, and frequented roads 

Can pick the dubious way? 

Banish far off 

Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell 

Invade thy wide inclosure, but admit 

The nitrous air, and purifying breeze.

Water and shade no less demand thy care: 

In a large square the' adjacent field inclose, 

There plant in equal ranks the spreading elm, 

Or fragrant lime; most happy thy design, 

If at the bottom of thy spacious court, 

A large canal, fed by the crystal brook, 

From its transparent bosom shall reflect 

Downward thy structure and inverted grove. 

Here when the sun's too potent gleams annoy 

The crowded kennel, and the drooping pack 

Listless and faint, loll their unmoisten'd tongues,
And drop their feeble tails; to cooler shades
Lead forth the panting tribe; soon shalt thou find
The cordial breeze their fainting hearts revive:
Tumultuous soon they plunge into the stream,
There lave their reeking sides, with greedy joy
Gulp down the flying wave, this way and that
From shore to shore they swim, while clamour loud
And wild uproar torments the troubled flood:
Then on the sunny bank they roll and stretch
Their dripping limbs, or else in wanton rings
Coursing around, pursuing and pursued,
The merry multitude disporting play.


But here with watchful and observant eye
Attend their frolics, which too often end
In bloody broils and death. High o'er thy head
Wave thy resounding whip, and with a voice
Fierce-menacing o'er-rule the stern debate,
And quench their kindling rage; for oft in sport
Begun, combat ensues, growling they snarl,
Then on their haunches rear'd, rampant they seize
Each other's throats, with teeth, and claws, in gore
Besmear'd, they wound, they tear, till on the ground, 

Panting, half dead the conquer'd champion lies: 

Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd 

Loud-clamouring seize the helpless worried wretch, 

And thirsting for his blood, drag different ways 

His mangled carcass on the' ensanguin'd plain. 

O breasts of pity void! to' oppress the weak, 

To point your vengeance at the friendless head, 

And with one mutual cry insult the fall'n! 

Emblem too just of man's degenerate race.

Others apart by native instinct led, 

Knowing instructor! among the ranker grass
Cull each salubrious plant, with bitter juice
Concoctive stor'd, and potent to allay
Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine
Of Providence, beneficent and kind
To all his creatures, for the brutes prescribes
A ready remedy, and is himself
Their great physician. Now grown stiff with age,
And many a painful chase, the wise old hound
Regardless of the frolic pack, attends
His master's side, or slumbers at his ease
Beneath the bending shade; there many a ring
Runs o'er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil
......
Bounds o'er the lawn to seize his panting prey;
And in imperfect whimperings speaks his joy.
A different hound for every different chase
Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare
O'ermatch'd destroy, but leave that vile offence
To the mean, murderous, coursing crew; intent
On blood and spoil. 

O blast their hopes, just Heav'n!
And all their painful drudgeries repay
With disappointment and severe remorse.
But husband thou thy pleasures, and give scope
To all her subtle play: by nature led
A thousand shifts she tries; to' unravel these
The' industrious beagle twists his waving tail:
Through all her labyrinths pursues, and rings
Her doleful knell. See there with countenance blithe,
And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound
Salutes thee cowering, his wide opening nose
Upward he curls, and his large sloe-black eyes
Melt in soft blandishments, and humble joy;
His glossy skin, or yellow-pied, or blue,
In lights or shades by nature's pencil drawn,
Reflects the various tints; his ears and legs
Fleckt here and there, in gay enamell'd pride,
Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail
O'er his broad back bends in an ample arch;
On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands;
His round cat foot, strait hams, and wide-spread thighs,
And his low-dropping chest, confess his speed,
His strength, his wind, or on the steepy hill,
Or far-extended plain; in every part
So well proportion'd, that the nicer skill
Of Phidias himself can't blame thy choice.
Of such compose thy pack. But here a mean
Observe, nor the large hound prefer, of size
Gigantic; he in the' thick-woven covert
Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake
Torn and embarrass'd bleeds: but if too small,
The pigmy brood in every furrow swims;
Moil'd in the clogging clay, panting they lag
Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep
Benumb'd and faint beneath the sheltering thorn.
For hounds of middle size, active and strong,
Will better answer all thy various ends,
And crown thy pleasing labours with success.
....
So model thou thy pack, if honour touch
Thy generous soul, and the world's just applause.
But above all take heed, nor mix thy hounds
Of different kinds; discordant sounds shall grate
Thy ears offended, and a lagging line
Of babbling ... disgrace thy broken pack. 

.....

I have a suspicion a deeper study of this Somerville might give some surprises and insights into our topic. Ever since Samuel Johnson dismissed Somerville's writing as not bad for a gentleman, who has wanted to study him. And yet, I wonder if the critics have been fair.

I find the beginning of "The Chace" affecting:

While you, Sir, gain the steep ascent to fame, 
And honours due to deathless merit claim,
To a weak Muse a kind indulgence lend,
....
And tell the world, that Somervile's her friend. )
Her incense guiltless of the forms of art
Breathes all the huntsman's honesty of heart;
.....
Strange! that the British Muse should leave so long,
The Chase, the sport of Britain's kings, unsung.
Distinguish'd land! by Heaven indulg'd to breed
The stout sagacious hound, and generous steed;.....