42 SHOOTING: 



But if each shot should carry death 'twere will'd, 

 Twould not be long 'fore ev'ry head was kill'd ; 

 E'en as it is, I'm free here to confess, 

 O'er all my beats, each year the sport grows less. 



The odious Game Laws are the Sportsman's bane ; 

 Now Keepers, to preserve, are almost vain ; 

 Under their auspices the lazy thrive, 

 While honest industry can scarcely live ; 

 The nightly takings find a ready sale, 

 The Poacher's friend, the Higgler, will not fail, 

 Them, and their well fill'd bags, with glee to hail : 

 A market now he has for all he buys, 

 Thus robbery plain honesty outvies. 

 And where the Sportsman kills one head, if plenty, 

 The lurking night hunter will take off twenty ; 

 And if the former always had his will, 

 Betwixt them both, there'd soon be none to kill 



There cannot be a doubt the present laws 

 Have giv'n the sporting gentry ample cause 



