[THE
[FO]X CHACE:
OR THE
Huntsman's Harmony;
BY THE
[Noble Duke] of BUCKINGHAM's Hounds, etc.
To an Excellent Tune much in Request.
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ALL in a Morning fair,
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As I rode to take the Air,
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I heard some to holloo most clearly:
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I drew myself a near,
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To listen who they were,
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That was going a hunting so early.
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I saw they were some Gentlemen,
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Who belong'd to th' Duke of Buckingham,
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They were going to make there a tryal:
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To run the Hounds o' the North,
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Being of such fame and worth,
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England has not the like, without all denial.
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Then in Wreckdale scrogs,
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We threw off our Dogs,
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In a place where his lying was likely:
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But the like ne'er was seen,
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Since a Huntsman I have been,
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For no Hounds found a Fox more quickly
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There was Dido and Spanker,
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And Younker [w]as th[ere]
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And Ruler, that ne'er looks behind him:
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There was Rose and Bonny Lass,
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Who were always in the Chace,
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These were part o'th' Hounds that did find him.
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Mr. Tybbals cries, away,
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Hark away, hark away,
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With that our Poor Huntsman did hear him:
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Tom Mossman cries G----d-z----ds,
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Uncouple all your Hounds,
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Or else we shall never come near him.
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Then Caper and Countess,
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And Comely were thrown off,
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With famous Thumper and Cryer,
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And several Hounds beside,
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Whose stoutness there was try'd,
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And not one in the Pack did tire,
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Our Hounds came in a-pace,
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And we fell into a Chace,
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And thus we pursu'd the poor Creature:
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W[it]h our English and French Horn,
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We encourag'd [our] Hounds that Morn,
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And our cry it was greater and greater.
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It could not be exprest,
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Which Hound run the best,
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For they run on a Breast all together:
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They run at such a rate,
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As you have not heard of late,
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When they chac'd him i'th' Vallies together.
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Then to the Moor he twin'd,
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Being clear again the wind,
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Thinking he might have cross'd it over:
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But our Hounds run so hard,
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They made the Fox afraid,
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And forc'd him to turn to his cover.
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Up the Hills he runs along,
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And his cover was full strong,
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But I think he had no great ease on't:
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For they run with such a cry,
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That their Ecchoes made him fly,
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I'll assure you our sport 'twas pleasant.
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Then homeward he hies,
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And in wreckledale he lies,
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Thinking the wind might save him:
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But our Hounds ran so near,
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That they posted him with fear,
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And our Horsemen they did deceive him.
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For Squire Whitcliff rode amain,
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And he whipt it o'er the plain:
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Mr. Watson his Horse did not favour?
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They rode up the highest Hills,
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And down the deepest Dales,
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Expecting his Life for there labour.
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Mr. Tybbal rode his part,
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Although his Chace was smart,
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Default they were seldom or never:
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But ever by and by,
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To the Hounds he would cry,
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Halloo, halloo, halloo, hark away altogether.
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Tom Mossman he rode short,
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Yet he help'd us in our sport,
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For he came in both Cursing and swearing:
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But when 'twas in his power,
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He cry'd out, that's our silly whore,
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Hark to Caperman now Slaughterman's near him.
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Then to Skipland wood he goes,
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Being pursu'd by his foes,
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The Company after him did follow,
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An untargage there we had,
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Which made our Huntsmen full glad,
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For we gave him many a halloo.
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The sport being almost gone,
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And the chace being almost run,
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He thought to have cross'd the River;
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But our Hounds being in,
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They after him did swim,
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And so they destroy'd him for ever.
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Then Leppin took a horn,
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As good as e'er was blown:
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Tom Mossman bid him wind his Death then;
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The Country People all,
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Came flocking to his fall,
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This was Honour enough for a French-Man.
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So-whoo-up we then Proclaim'd,
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God bless the Duke of Buckingham,
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For our Hounds then had gain'd much Glory
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This being the sixth Fox,
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That we kill'd above the Rocks,
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Anu there is an end of the story.
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