[The Hunting of the Hare.
With her last Will and Testament.
As twas performd on Bamstead-Downs,
By Conny-Catchers, and their Hounds.
To a pleasant new Tune.]
|
OF all delights that earth doth yield,
|
Give me a pack of Hounds in field;
|
Whose Eccho shall throughout the Sky,
|
Make Jove admire our Harmony;
|
and wish that he a Mortal were,
|
to view the Pastime we have here.
|
I will tell you of a rare Scent,
|
Where many a Gallant Horse was spent
|
On Bamstead-Downs a Hare we found
|
Which led us all a smoaking round:
|
O're Hedge and Ditch away she goes,
|
Admiring her approaching foes.
|
But when she found her strength to waste
|
She parly'd with the Hounds at last;
|
Kind Hounds (quoth she) forbear to kill,
|
A harmless Hare that ne'r thought ill
|
And if your Master sport do crave,
|
I'le lead a Scent as he would have.
|
Huntsman.
|
Away, away, thou art alone,
|
Make haste, I say, and get thee gone;
|
We'l give the Law for half a Mile,
|
To see if thou canst us beguile:
|
But then expect a thundring cry,
|
Made by us and our Harmony.
|
Hare.
|
Now since you set my life so slight,
|
I'le make black-sloven turn to white,
|
And York-shire-Gray that runs at all,
|
I'le make him wish he were in stall:
|
And Sorrel, he that seems to flye,
|
Ile make him supple e're he dye:
|
[And Barnard-Bay, do what he can,
|
Or Barons-Bay, that now and than
|
Did interrupt me in the way,]
|
I'le make him nei[ther jet nor play,]
|
Or constant R[obin, though he lye]
|
At his advant[age, what care I.]
|
Will Hatton he ha[th done me wrong,]
|
He struck me as [I ran along;]
|
And with one pa[t made me so sore,]
|
That I ran reeli[ng too and fro:]
|
But if he dye, [his Master tell,]
|
That fool shal[l ring my Passing-Bell.]
|
Ho[unds.]
|
Alas, poor Hare, [it is our Nature,]
|
To kill thee and [no other Creature;]
|
For our Master [wants a bit,]
|
And thou wilt w[ell become the Spit,]
|
He'l eat thy F[lesh, we'll pick thy bone,]
|
This is thy [doom, so get thee gone.]
|
[Hare.]
|
Your Master ma[y have better Chear,]
|
For I am dry, a[nd Butter's dear;]
|
But if he please [to make a Friend,]
|
He'd better give [a Puddings-end,]
|
For I being [kill'd, he sport will lack,]
|
and I must han[g on th' Huntsmans back,]
|
H[ounds.]
|
Alas poor Hare, w[e pitty thee,]
|
If with our natur[e 'twould agree,]
|
But all thy Doub[ling shift, I fear,]
|
Will not prevai[l, thy Death's so near;]
|
Then [make thy Will; it may be that]
|
M[ay save thee, or I know not what.]
|
[Hare.]
|
T[hen I bequeath my Body free,]
|
U[nto your Masters Courtesie;
|
And if he please my Life to grant,
|
I'll be his Game, when sport is scant;
|
But if I dye, each greedy Hound
|
Divides my Intrails on the ground.]
|
|
|
|
|
|