To him Bun, take him Bun: Or,
The hunting of the Conney.
To the tune of, To him Bunne, etc.
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G Reat Mars and Venus ,
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upon a time meeting,
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In Cupids shady Bowers,
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after some greeting:
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Many words passed then,
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but their chiefe argument
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Was how that Summers day,
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should be in pleasure spent:
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He said Warres, Brawles and Jarres,
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these she denied,
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Milder sport fits each sort,
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thus shee replyed.
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[L]et your Hound range some ground,
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and swiftly follow him,
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[H]unt the Bun take the Bunne,
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but doe not swallow him.
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If than Apollo pleasd,
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Mars was contented,
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They shooke hands and agreed,
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so both consented:
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Phaebus beames warmes the streames,
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where Nymphs doe bath them,
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Boras playes with their locks,
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and gently waves them;
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The gods did give consent,
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mortals should sport and play,
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In a most decent sort,
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keeping it Holiday.
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Let your Hound range some ground,
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and switly follow him,
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Hunt the Bunne, take the Bunne,
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and doe not swallow him.
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Flora with Flowers sweet,
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spred all the Mountaines,
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Valles were fresh and greene,
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swift ranne the Fountaines:
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Phylomel sweetly sung,
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to entertaine the Spring,
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On each branch sits a Bird,
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making the Groves to ring:
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Pan pipeth on his Reede,
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whilst that his Lambes doe play,
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Every thing seemes to spring,
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welcomming pleasant May .
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Let your Hound range some ground,
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and switly follow him,
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Hunt the Bunne, take the Bunne,
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but doe not swallow him.
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Foorth went the Countrey Youthes,
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every one leading
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His nimblest footed Dogge,
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ore the Lawnes treading:
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Through each bush doe they rush,
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and open way doth make,
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A Hunters path is free,
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be it through Brake or Lake,
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Over Hill over Dale,
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with shoute and hallow,
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Whilest that their nimble Hounds,
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poore Bunne doth follow.
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Let your Hound range some ground,
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and swiftly follow him,
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Hunt the Bunne, take the Bunne,
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and doe not swallow him.
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The second part, to the same tune.
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Q Uoth one the match is made,
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now thers no flinching,
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Ile not give out for nought,
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Hang up all pinching:
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Since w'are within the Chase,
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weele have about Lad,
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Encourage up thy Dogge,
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why dost thou pout Lad,
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Faire play Ile see thee have,
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flye Bunny faint not,
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Pretty Bunne nimbly runne,
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and see thou plaint not.
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Let your Hound range some ground
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and swiftly follow him:
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Hunt the bun take the bun,
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but doe not swallow him.
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Nimbly she leapes and skips,
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ore Hill and Valley,
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Holes she takes, creepes through brakes,
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seeming to dally:
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Cries of Hounds makes the grounds,
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eccho like Thunder:
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Making each silly beast
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mazed with wonder:
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Take the Earth, let not death
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so soone ore take thee,
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For if he catch thee Bun,
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hele soundly shake thee.
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Let your Hound range some ground,
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and swiftly follow him:
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Hunt the Bun, take the Bun,
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and doe not swallow him.
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For all the shift she made,
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quickely they caught her,
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And full low on the ground,
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sodenly brought her:
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She did sqeeke, they did sheerke,
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thus they usd Bunny,
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Hard hearted Hounds to use,
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so a poore Conny:
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Hunters came in apace,
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to see the slaughter,
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And each one did rejoyce,
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that they had caught her.
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Let your Hound range some ground,
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and swiftly follow him:
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Hunt the Bun, take the Bun,
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and doe not swallow him.
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This being done, then the Sunne
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Westward declined,
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And pale-fac't Cynthya ,
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in the East shined:
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Every man with a Leash,
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up his Dogge tied,
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And when their sport was done,
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homeward they hied:
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So farewell. yet a Knell,
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Ile ring for Bunny.
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Which was a harmelesse beast,
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poore pretty Conney.
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Ding dong ding thus I ring,
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poore Bun is buried,
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That with so many Doggs,
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was at once weried.
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Finis.
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