HUNTING SONGS 



IV 



Some riders there are, who, too jealous of place, 

 Will fling back a gate in their next neighbour's face ; 

 Some never pull up when a friend gets a fall, 

 Some ride over friends, hounds, and horses, and all ; 

 Such riders as these we good fellows condemn, 

 And I vow we'll ne'er drink a qussitum to them . 



V 



For coffee-house gossip some hunters come out, 

 Of all matters prating, save that they're about ; 

 From scandal and cards they to politics roam. 

 They ride forty miles, head the Fox, and go home ! 

 Such sportsmen as these we good fellows condemn, 

 And I vow we'll ne'er drink a quaesitum to them. 



VI 



Since one Fox on foot more diversion will bring 

 Than twice twenty thousand cock pheasants on wing. 

 The man we all honour, whate'er be his rank, 

 Whose heart heaves a sigh when his gorse is drawn 



blank. 

 Qussitum ! QuEBsitum ! fill up to the brim. 

 We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. 



VII 



O ! give me that man to whom nought comes amiss. 

 One horse or another, that country or this ; 

 Through falls and bad starts who undauntedly still 

 Rides up to this motto : " Be with 'em I will." 

 Quaesitum ! Quaesitum ! fill up to the brim. 

 We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. 

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