HUNTING SONGS 



IX 



Owd Sir Harry, he'd canter to Saighton one morn, 

 And the next be at Tidnock a-woinding his horn ; 

 Sartin sure, could th' owd manager hear it tawk'd 



o'er, 

 He would jump from his grave to the saddle once 



more. 



Your chairman, Bowd Scarlet, a bumper disarves, 

 A hero who never does nothing by halves. 

 Ask him, and he'll soon finish up the discussion. 

 He never cut nothing in two but a Russian. 



XI 



The Fenians they say be a-coming red hot, 

 To blow us i' pieces wi' powder and shot ; 

 " Young Ireland " in toim may owd England upset. 

 But we donna want here a " Young Cheshire " — not 

 yet. 



XII 



As to haulving the Hunt betwixt owd pack and 



new, 

 Oi'd as soon think o' cutting moi missis in two ; 

 To our Queen and our Country let aw on us stick, 

 To th' owd Pack, to th' owd Kennel, and four days 

 a wik. 

 132 



