And Maia with Flora did company bear; Too high, to be mated, Although she hated not hunting the hare. Three brown bowls to th' Olympical rector, And Phoebus to Hermes, and Hermes to me : I piped and mused, In language unused, their sports to declare : Like the spheres did move : Health to those that love hunting the hare ! 0. SONG LX. THE IRISH HUNT, Tune, Sheela na guiragh. HARK! hark! jolly sportsmen, awhile to my tale, 'Tis of lads, and of horses, and dogs that ne'er tire, In seventeen hundred, and forty and four, At five in the morning, by most of the clocks, We cast off our hounds for an hour or more, When Wanton set up a most tuneable roar; Hark to Wanton!' cried Joe, and the rest were not slack, For Wanton's no trifler esteem'd in the pack; Old Bonny and Collier came readily in, And every hound join'd in the musical din Had Diana been there, she'd been pleas'd to the life, Ten minutes past nine was the time of the day, He ran Bushes-grove, up to Carberry-Burns, Though he might have got in, yet he chose to keep out: To Malpas' high hills was the way then he flew ; At Dalkeystone-common we had him in view; He drove on, by Bullock, through Shrubglanagery, Through Rochestown wood like an arrow he pass'd, And said in his heart, Sure none dare follow me :' To recover the shore then again was his drift, We return'd to Kilruddery's plentiful board, Where dwells Hospitality, Truth, and my lord; We talk'd o'er the chase, and we toasted the health Of the man that ne'er varied for places or wealth. Owen Bray balk'd a leap; says Hal Preston, 'twas odd; 'Twas shameful, cries Jack, by the great living God :' Says Preston, 'I halloo'd, get on, though you fall; 'Or I'll leap over you, your blind gelding and all.' Each glass was adapted to freedom and sport, Then, till the next meeting, bid farewell each brother, For some they went one way, and some went another : As Phoebus befriended our earlier roam, So Luna took care in conducting us home. SONG LXI. THE THIEF AND CORDELIER. BY MATTHEW PRIOR, ESQ. Tune, King John and the Abbot of Canterbury." WHO has e'er been at Paris must needs know the Grève, The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave; * Where honour and justice most oddly contribute Derry down, down, hey derry down. There Death breaks the shackles which force had put on, And the hangman completes what the judge had begun ; There the squire of the pad, and the knight of the post, Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no more cross'd. Derry down, &c. Great claims are there made, and great secrets are known ; Derry down, &c. 'Twas there, then, in civil respect to harsh laws, The squire, whose good grace was to open the scene, Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin; Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart; And often took leave, but was loth to depart. Derry down, &c. 'What frightens you thus, my good son? (says the priest ;) 'You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confess'd.' ́O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon; 'For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.' Derry down, &c. 'Pough! prithee ne'er trouble thy head with such fancies; 'Rely on the aid you shall have from Saint Francis : 'If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest, 'You have only to die; let the church do the rest. Derry down, &c. And what will folks say, if they see you afraid? 'It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade : Courage, friend! to-day is your period of sorrow, And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.' To-morrow! (our hero replied in a fright) He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of tonight.' |