56 SEE Phebus begins to enliven the eaft,
And fee the grey dawn wears away; Come roufe, fellow huntsman, relinquish dull rest, And join in the ports of the day; No longer in floth let your senses remain,
Untainted the fweets of the morn;
Drive flumber away, and make one in our train,
To follow the found of the horn
What mufic to ours can for sweetness compare,
What sports such a pleasure can yield?
What fcent fo refin'd as the new morning air?
What profpect fo bright as the field?
Let mifers for riches each transport forego,
'Midft their treasures diftrefs'd and forlorn-
We tante ev'ry joy, and forget every woc-
So charming the found of the horn.
Such pleasures we feel, while from vanity free,
Our hours pafa contented along;
In innocent paflime, in mirth, and in glee,
With a hearty repast and a song :
Ye mortals, unbiafs'd by honours and wealth,
Those titles that forrow adorn;
Would you taste, the calm joys of contentment and
Then follow the found of the horn.
THE fun now peeps o'er yonder hill,
In ftreaks of golden red,
For fhame get up, nor flumber ftill,
Quit, quit your downy bed.
With rofy health our cheeks fhall glow,
Our nerves with toil be strong;
With tides of joy our blood fhall flow,
Who join the hunting throng.
For haik, horn, &c.
And when we leave the fhouting field,
And night has brought us home,
Libations rich the hall fhall yield,
Loud mirth fhall fhake the dome.
For hark, horn, &c.
PRINCIPAL VOICES.
OUT of fight are the hounds, boys;
We've loft them to day,
We are fairly thrown out,
Who will tell us the way?
RESPONSE.
If you'll follow up clofe, we will tell you the wa
Who, who are fuch friends to the joys of the chec We hear but the voice, but we fee not the face,
[health, We cannot, we must not discover the face,
For bark! horn and hound are faluting the day,
The fox from his covert is bursting away;
O'er mountains he fcampers, we'll double our pace,
Swift vengeance purfues him and gladdens our chaec.
Lofe, lofe no time, to horfe, my boys,
Fling off dull drowsy fpleen;
The neighing founds, and deep tongu'd noife,
Now call us to the green,
Pursue o'er the mountains your prey,
Be firft of the heart chearing race, All rous'd by the coils of the day.
You'll own the delights of the chrace.
A hunter, no more you'll complain;
No fpleen-brooding cares inail ye know,
A ftranger to fickness and pain,
With life and new vigour you'll glow. Then fly from the pleafures that pail,
That languor most certainly yield, But wake to the horn's early call, And hafte to the fports of the field.
HARK, hark, jolly fportfmen, awhile to my tale,
Which to pay your attention, I'm fure cannot fail,
'Tas of lads, and of horfes, and dogs that ne'er tire,
O'er ftone walls and hedges, thro' date, bog and briar.
A pack of fuch hounds, and a fet of fuch men,
"Tis a fhrewd chance if ever you meet with again;
Had Nimrod the mightieft of hunters been there,
'Fore gad, he had shook like an afpin for fear.
In feventeen hundred, and forty and four,
The fifth of December, I think 'twas no more,
At five in the morning, by most of the clocks,
We rode from Killruddery in search of a fox,
The Laughlin's-town landlord, the bold Owen Bray,
And 'Squire Adair, fure, was with us that day;
Jo Debill, Hall Prefton, that huntsman so stout,
Dick Holmes, a few others, and so we let out.
We caft off our hounds for an hour or more,
When Wanton fet up a moft tuneable roar;
Hark to Wanton, cried Jo, and the reft were not flack
For Wanton's no trifle, efteem'd in the pack.
Old Bonny and Collier came readily in,
And every hound join'd in the mufical din;
Had Diana been there he'd been pleas'd to the life,
And one of the lads got a goddefs to wife.
Each glafs was adapted to freedom and sport, 1
For party affairs, we confign'd to the court.
In gay flowing bumpers and focial delight.
Then till the next meeting, bid farewel each brothe
So fome they went one way and some went anothe
As Phebus befriended our earlier roam,
So Luna took care in conducting us home,
THE dufkynight rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn,
The hounds all make a jovial cry,
The huntsman winds his horn.
Then a hunting let us go.
The wife around her husband throws,
Her arms to make him stay,
My dear, it hails, it rains, it blows,
You cannot hunt to-day.
But a hunting, &c.
Ten minutes past nine was the time of the day,
When Reynard broke cover, and this was his way;
As ftrong from Killegar, as tho' he could fear none,Thus we finish'd the reft of the day and the night
AWAY
he brush d round by the house of Killternan,
To Carrickmines thence, and to Cherry wood then,
Steep Shank-bill he climb'd, and to Ballymanglen,
Bray Commons he crofs'd, leap'd Lord Angiefey's wall,
And leem'd to fay, "Little I value you all."
He ran Bub's grove, up to Carbury Byrn's,
Jo Debill, Hall Prefton, kept leading by turns,
The earth it was open, yet he was fo ftout,
Tho he might have got in, yet he chofe to keep out,
To Malpa's high hills was the way then he flew,
At Dalkeystone Common we had him in view,
He drove on by Bullock, through shrub Glanagery,
And fo on to Mountown where Laury grew weary.
Thro' Rocheftown wood, like an arrow he pass'd,
And came to the fteep hill of Dalkey at last,
There gallantly plung'd himself into the fea,
And faid in his heart, "Sure none dare follow me."
But fon to his coft, he perceiv'd that that no bounds
Cool: it p the pursuit or the ftaunch mettl'd hounds.
His policy here, did not ferve him a rush,
Five couple of tarriers were hard at his brush.
To recover the fhore, then again was his drift,
But e'er he could reach to the top of the clift,
He found both of speed and of cunning a lack,
Being way-laid, and kill'd by the rest of the pack.
At his death there were present the lads that I've fung
Save Laury, who riding a garran, was Alung.
Thus ended at length a most delicate chase,
That held us five hours and ten minutes space,
We return'd to Killruddery's plentiful board.
Where dwels hofpicality, truth, and my lord ;
Wetalk'd o'er the chace, and we toafted the health
Of the man that ne'er varied for places of wealth.
Owen Bray baulk'd a leap, fay's Hall Prefton, 'twas odd
"Twas shametul, cried Jack, by the great living
Said Prefton I balloo'd, “ Get on, tho' you fall,
Or I'll leap over you, your blind gelding and all.”
Th' uneavern'd fox like lightning flies,
His cunning's all awake,
To gain the race he eager tries,
His forfeit life the flake.
When a hunting, &c.
Arous'd e'en Echo huntress turns,
And madly fhouts her joy,
The fportfman's breaft in raptures burns,
The chace can never cloy.
Then a hunting, &c.
Defpairing mark he feeks the tide,
His art must now prevail,
Hark! fhouts the mifcreant's death betide,
His fpeed, his cunning fail,
When a hunting, &c.
For lo! his ftrength to faintnefs worn,
The hounds arreft his flight,
Then hungry homewares we return,
To feaft away the night.
Then a drinking, &c.'·
63 GIVE round the word difmount, dismount, While echoed by the sprightly horn, The toils and pleasures we recount, Of this tweet health-inspiring morn.
'Twas glorious fport, none e'er did lag,
Nor drew amiís, nor made a ftand;
But all as firmly kept their pace,
As had Aften been the stag,
And we had hunted by command,
Of the goddess of the chace.
And we had hunted, &c.
The hounds were out and fnuft the air,
And scarce had reach`d the appointed spot;
But pleas'd they heard a layer, a layer,
And prefently drew on the flot.
'Twas glorious fport, &c.
And now o'er yonder plain he fleets,
The deep-mouth'd hounds begin to baw! ; And echo note for note repeats,
While sprightly horns refound a call. 'Twas glorious fport, &c.
And now the ftag has lost his pace,
And white ware-haunch the huntsman cries; His bofom fwells, tears wet his face, He pants, he ftruggles, and he dies. Twas glorious fport, &c.
Acteon was a hunter bold,
Wore horns upon his pate,
But we will take our wives with us,
And fo avoid his fate.
When a hunting, &c.
If in ditch, or bog, or brake,
Our carcafe chance to flick in,
We're champions all and fight the caufe,
Of gander, goofe, and chicken.
When a hunting, &c.
But if perchance a fox chace,
Should coft a man his breath,,
We're all militia captains now,
And who's afraid of death.
When a hunting, &c.
Then should we break fly Reynard's neck,
In paftime e'ent it merit,
And if perchance we break our own,
Why damme e'nt it spirit,
When a hunting, &c.
But if a Quift won't quit his bed,
For fports fo blithe and bonny,
We'll fwear he hates fatigue and dirt,
And call him Macaroni,
When a hunting, &c.
Abuse him for his want of tafte,
Since nothing fo bewitches,
Like fpending all the winter long,
In boots and leather breeches.
When a hunting, &c.
What raptures can equal the joys of the chace, Health, bloom and contentment, appear in each face, And in our fleet courfers what beauty and grace, While we the fwift ftag do purfues
At the deep and harmonious sweet cry of the hounds, Struck by terror he runs from the forests wide bounds And tho' like the lightning he darts o'er the grounds, Yet ftill, boys, we keep him in view.
When chac'd till quite fpent, he his life does rel Our victim we'll offer at Bacchas's fhrine, And revel in honour of Nimrød divine,
That hunter, fo mighty of fame; Our glaffes then charge to our country and kin Love and beauty we'll fill to and jovially fing; Withing health and fuccefs, till we made the h To all sportsmen and fons of the game. [
A COLLECTION of SONGS for the LADIE
I would not reign the general toaft,
Be prais'd by all the town;
A thousand tongues on me are loft,
I'll hear but only one.
For which of all the flattering train,
Who fwarm at beauty's fhrine,
When youth's gay charms are in the wa
Will court their fure decline,
Then fops and wits and beaux forbear,
Your arts will never do;
For fome fond you h fhall be my care, Life's checquer'd feason through. My little heart hall love a home,
A warm and fhelter's neft;
No giddy fights thall make me roam
From whence I am not bleft: »
With love and only that dear fwain,
What tranquil joys I fee,
Farewell, ye false inconftant train !
For one is all to me.
|