HUNTING SONGS 



HI 



The WilHngton mare,^ when she started so fast. 

 Ah ! we little thought then that the race was her 



last ; 

 Accurst be the stake that was stain'd with her 



blood ; 

 But why cry for spilt milk ? — may the next be as 



good ! 



IV 



'Twas a sight for us all, worth a million, I swear. 

 To see the Black Squire how he rode the black 



mare ; ^ 

 The meed that he merits, the Muse shall bestow, 

 First, foremost, and fleetest from old Oulton Lowe ! 



How Delamere went, it were useless to tell. 

 To say he was out, is to say he went well ; 

 A rider so skilful ne'er buckled on spur 

 To rule a rash horse, or to make a screw stir. 



VI 



The odds are in fighting that Britain beats France ; ^ 

 In the chase, as in war, we must all take our 



chance. 

 Little Ireland kept up, like his namesake the 



nation,* 

 By dint of " coercion " and great " agitation." 



1 Note 7. - Note 8. ^ Note 9. ^ Note 10, 



8 



