HUNTING SONGS 



VI 



And I love, when evening closes. 

 And a good day's sport is o'er, 



Thrice to pour into the wine-cup 

 Ruddy port of thirty-four. 



VII 



I have told you what I love — now 

 Let me tell you what I hate — 



That accurs'd Succession Duty 

 On the heir to my estate. 



VIII 



Old Nelson to the Frenchman 

 In a voice of thunder spoke, 



What would Nelson say to Gladstone 

 With his tax on British oak ? 



IX 



Hounds I hate which, shy of stooping. 

 Must be lifted still and cast. 



Like many a fool who follows. 

 Far too flashy and too fast. 



iron engines which have silenc'd 

 In the barn the thresher's flail ; 



Iron wires, a modern makeshift 

 For the honest post and rail. 

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