Away my nymphs, 'away, away, Let fhouts to the welkin refound, And the who ftrikes the deftin'd prey,' Shall queen of the foreft be crown'd. RECITATIVE. The milkmaid's carol glads the ploughman's car, The jolly huntfman winds his chearful horn, And the ftaunch pack return the lov'd falute. AIR. The hounds are unkenneled, and now, Thro' the copfe and the furz will we lead, HE whistling ploughman hails the blushingTill we reach yonder farm on the brow, THE dawn, The thrush melocious drowns the ruftic note, Loud fings the black bird thro' refounding groves, And the lark foars to meet the rifing fun. AIR. Away, to the copfe lead away, And now, my boys, throw off the hounds; I'll warrant he thews us fome play; See, yonder he skulks thro' the grounds.. For there lurks the thief that must bleed. I told you fo didn't I?-see where he flies; 'Twas Bellman that open'd, fo fure the fox dies. Let the horn's jolly found, Encourage the hound, And float through the echoing skies, F RECITATIVE. The chace begun, nor rock, nor flood, nor swamp, Then fpur your brisk courfers, and fmoke 'em, my Quickfet, or gate, the thundering courte retard; bloods: 'Tis a delicate fcent-lying morn; What concert is equal to thofe of the woods, Each earth fee he tries at in vain, In cover no ¡afety can find, So he breaks it, and fcours amain, And leaves us at diftance behind. O'er rocks and o'er rivers, and hedges we fly, And now he fcarce creeps thro' the dale, All parch'd from his mouth hangs his tongue; His fpeed can no longer avail, Nor his life can his cunning prolong. 'Till the dead notes proclaim the falling prey, Then-to the fportive fquire's capacious bowl. To liften how the hounds and horns, Chearly route the flumb'ring morn, From our ftaunch and fleet pack 'twas in vain that he Thro' the high wood echoing still. filed, Hark! hark! don't you hear they are now in the dale, Though up to the hills and the mountains the fcales, While echo furrounds us with hooting and cries, Our freedom with confcience is never alarm'd. Which kings and their courtiers ne'er tafte, IAM, jolly huntfman, My voice is fhrill and clear, I leave my bed betimes, Before the morning grey; Let loose my dogs, and mount a horfe, The game's no fooner rous'd, But in rush the chearful cry, Thro' bush and brake, o'er hedge and flake, In vain be flies to covert, Ev'n though they've lost the view, &i. There's Scentwell and Finder, To Scent well, hark! he calls, And faithful Finder joins, Their legs and throats they ftrain, &c. There's Ruler and Countess, That moft times lead the field, To none of them will yield, &c. Their nimble trebles try; There's Rockwood and Thunder, That tongue the heavy bass; Whilst Trowler and Ringwood With tenors crown the chace, &c. Now fweetly in full cry Their various notes they join; Gods! what a concert's here, my lads! 'Tis more than half divine, &c. The woods, rocks, and mountains, Delighted with the found, To neighb'ring dales and fountains Repeating, deal it round, &c. A glorious chace it is, We drove him many a mile, O'er hedge and ditch, we go thro' flitch, And hit off many a foil, &c. And yet he runs it ftoutly, How wide, how fwift he ftrains, With what a fkip he ook that leap, And fcours it o'er the plains, &c. See how our horfes foam! The dogs begin to droop, Hark! Leader, Countess, Bouncer, We'll die i'th' place, ere quit the chace, Up yonder fleep I'll flow, Befet with craggy ftones; My lord cries, Jack, you dog! come back, Or elfe you'll break your bones, &c. Huzza! he's almost down, He begins to flack his curfe, He pants for breath; I'll in at's death, See, now he takes the moors, And ftrains to reach the ftream; He leaps the flood, to cool his blood, His legs begin to fail, His wind and fpeed is gone, He ftands at bay, and gives 'em play, Old Heftar long behind, By ufe and nature bold, But foon is Aung from's hold, &c. Advances and retreats, Poor Tallboy is lain dead, &c. The fport is ended now, We're laden with the spoil; As home we pafs, we talk o'th chace, And a hunting c. While drunkards are pleas'd in the joys of the cup, At the break of each morn the huntsman is up, Then quickly my lads to the foreft repair, Thus each morning, each day, in raptures we pass, But at night to refresh with the bottle and glass, 37 HARK! for fore I hear the horns melodious Then come come come join in Boys, follow then with fpeed, Then come, come, mend your pace, We foon fhall fee him lag, 312 O'er floods, o'er rocks and hills, And over purling tills, [found; If our hounds, when they're dragging the wood-Thus bleis'd with the pleasures the country affords, Unkennel the fox from his den: [lands around, So ho, cries our huntiman, fo ho, the's in view, And ne'er the glad fight of him lose, To go back to the jovial chace. Thus Nimrod's diverfion we'll keep in renown, And each night with a bumper our day's fport we'll 40 [crown, How fof glides the ftream the gay meadow :long' 'Tis done, the is breathless, now home we repair, Content with our fiations, more happy than lords, 41 A pack of good hounds and a friend. In fuch real joys will be found,' True happiness centers in thefe; Here's to fox-hunting, friendship, and love. |