A HUNTING SONG. 335 



Hark ! hark to the notes of the melodious French horn 



How sweetly she calls you out in the morn 



She tells you Jemme is mounted on Tartar his steed 



And invites you all to the cover witli speed 



Of all pleasures or pastimes ever heard or seen 



There 's none in the world like to merry hunting 



Hark ! cover hark ! the hounds are all in 

 The fox they have found and to his kennel they flmg 

 He's forced now thorow the woods for to fly 

 Tho' nothing can save him between the earth and the sky 

 Of all pleasures 



Hark ! tally hark ! out of cover they all break 

 And tell you the fox they ever will seek 

 They surely will run him until that he die 

 Unless some kind earth save him in his way 

 Of all pleasures 



The fox now panting sees he must die 



The hounds with their ingoys resound to the sky 



There's Stalely and Empress the earth scarce touch with 



the feet 

 There's Chasir and Trimmer all together as fleet 

 Of all pleasures 



Triumph and Driver now push to head the whole pack 

 Whipster being stole his place for to take 

 I think such rascally treatment as these 

 Should be reproach' d by all those who seek for to please 

 Of all pleasures 



Bold Reynard now finding his speed will not do 

 Betakes to the woods the hounds may not him pursue 

 But the hounds as at first to the cover they fly 

 And swear old Reynard in the field of honour shall die 

 Of all pleasures 



