150 



HUNTING SONG OF ME. MEYNELL'S TIME, * 



ABOUT 1790. 



This morning at work, sowing out of my hopper. 

 Troth ! who should come by but Dick, the earth-stopper. 

 Stop ! Hark ye ! says he, I think there be hounds : 

 Ods Bobs ! they are Meynell's 3 I hear his Gad zounds. 

 (Eepeat) With my Ballina mona ora, 



Squire Meynell 's the hunter for me. 



If we head him he'll d — us. We view ! Tally ho ! 

 Whilst the hounds ring the scent from the valley below. 

 All carrying a head, Sir, like pigeons in flight, 

 And beating the red coats almost out of sight. 



The hounds of Squire Meynell for me. 



From the Coplow they came, and to Enderby go ; 

 Then let us observe who rides over them now ; 

 Then cease, my dear Squire, oh ! cease your alarm, 

 For by Gosh ! there 's no rider can do them much harm. 

 Squire Meynell 's the hunter for me. 



The first in the burst, see ! yonder comes Maynard, 

 Taking all in his stroke, yet 's obliged to strain hard. 

 And next him, on Marquis, there's dashing Charles 



Windham, 

 At a mortal great stride, leaving numbers behind him. 

 The lads of Quorendon for me. 



*Mr. Delme RadclifFe mentions this as " a very old song," and says it 

 was called "A Burst from Breedon Clouds," but in the printed copy kindly 

 lent me by Mr. Cradock, of Quorn, it is only entitled " Hunting Song." 



