THE
FOX-CHACE:
OR,
The Huntsman's Harmony;
BY THE
Noble Duke of Buckingham's Hounds, etc.
To an excellent Tune much in Request. Licens'd and Enter'd according to Order.
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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 were 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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That 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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Si[nc]e a huntsman I have been,
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For no hounds found a fox more quickly.
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There was dido an spanker,
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And younker was there,
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And ruler, that ne'e-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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Heark away, heark away;
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With that our foot-huntsman did hear him:
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Tom mossman cries godzounds,
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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 b[e]side,
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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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With 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 enjoy'd him i' th' vallies together.
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Then to the moor he twin'd,
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Being clear against 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 their 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, heark 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 lilly whore,
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Heark to caper-man, now slaughter-man'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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Th' company after him did follow,
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An untarpage 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 forever.
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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 frenchman.
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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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And there is an end of the story.
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