394 WARWICKSHIRE HUNT. 



And when returning home beware 

 No loaded barrel enters there. 

 Oh ! to discharge your gun, or draw 

 The charge, is more than nature's law — 

 Lest chance, or frolic, or design, 

 Make wretched this abode of mine. 



My son ! these principles remember 

 As guides for shooting in Septem1)er, 

 Lest T who trust you with a gun 

 Should prove the murd'rer of my son. 

 And your dear mother's heart-strings burst. 

 Made childless on the fatal first. 

 Think'st thou, my boy, that I could be. 

 If thus depriv'd of her and thee. 

 Able to drag life's pond'rous chain 

 With no delirium on my brain ? 

 Ah ! no, that selfsame hour would find 

 Distraction seizing on my mind. 

 Nor would it cease till friendly death 

 Put period to thy father's breath. 

 And the oblivious grave imparted 

 Peace to thy parent, broken-hearted. — 

 The father paused, and you might spy 

 Tears gathering fast in either eye. 

 Till, with a hand upon his breast. 

 As choking with its sighs suppress'd. 

 Again he cried, ' My Son remember 

 These Rules for Shooting in September.' 



