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And Maia with Flora did company bear;
But Juno was stated

Too high, to be mated,

Although she hated not hunting the hare.

Three brown bowls to th' Olympical rector,
The Troy-born boy presents on his knee;
Jove to Phoebus carouses in nectar,

And Phoebus to Hermes, and Hermes to me :
Wherewith infused,

I piped and mused,

In language unused, their sports to declare :
Till the house of Jove

Like the spheres did move :

Health to those that love hunting the hare !

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SONG LX.

THE IRISH HUNT,

Tune, Sheela na guiragh.

HARK! hark! jolly sportsmen, awhile to my tale,
To pay your attention I'm sure it can't fail :

'Tis of lads, and of horses, and dogs that ne'er tire,
O'er stone walls and hedges, through dale, bog, and briar :
A pack of such hounds, and a set of such men
'Tis a shrewd chance if ever you meet with again;
Had Nimrod, the mightiest of hunters, been there,
'Fore gad he'd have shook like an aspen, for fear.

In seventeen hundred, and forty and four,
The fifth of December, I think 'twas no more,

At five in the morning, by most of the clocks,
We rode from Kilruddery in search of a fox ;
The Laughlinstown landlord, the bold Owen Bray,
And squire Adair sure was with us that day;
Joe Debbil, Hal Preston, that huntsman so stout,
Dick Holmes, a few others, and so we set out.

We cast off our hounds for an hour or more,

When Wanton set up a most tuneable roar;

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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

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Had Diana been there, she'd been pleas'd to the life,
And one of the lads got a goddess to wife.

Ten minutes past nine was the time of the day,
When Reynard broke cover, and this was his play :
As strong from Killegar as though he could fear none,
Away he brush'd round by the house of Kilternan ;
To Carrickmines thence, and to Cherrywood then,
Steep Shankhill he climb'd, and to Ballyman-glen ;
Bray-common he cross'd, leap'd lord Anglesey's wall,
And seem'd to say, 'Little I value you all.'

He ran Bushes-grove, up to Carberry-Burns,
Joe Debbil, Hal Preston, kept leading by turns :
The earth it was open, but he was so stout,

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,
And so on to Mountown, where Laury grew weary.

Through Rochestown wood like an arrow he pass'd,
And came to the steep hills of Dalkey at last ;
There gallantly plung'd himself into the sea,

And said in his heart, Sure none dare follow me :'
But soon, to his cost, he perceiv'd that no bounds,
Could stop the pursuit of such staunch mettled hounds;
His policy here did not serve him a rush,
Five couple of tartars were hard at his brush.

To recover the shore then again was his drift,
But, ere he could reach to the top of the clift,
He found both of speed and of cunning a lack,
Being way-laid and kill'd by the rest of the pack.
At his death there were present the lads I have sung,
Save Laury, who, riding a garron, was flung.
Thus ended, at length, a most delicate chase,
That held us five hours and ten minutes space.

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,
For party-affairs we consign'd to the court:
Thus we finish'd the rest of the day, and the night,
In gay flowing bumpers and social delight;

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.

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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
To ease heroes' pains, by a halter and gibbet.

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 ;
And the king, and the law, and the thief has his own:
But my hearers cry out, what a deuce dost thou ail?
Put off thy reflections, and give us thy tale.

Derry down, &c.

'Twas there, then, in civil respect to harsh laws,
And for want of false witness to back a bad cause,
A Norman, though late, was oblig'd to appear;
And who to assist but a grave Cordelier!
Derry down, &c.

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 :

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Courage, friend! to-day is your period of sorrow,

And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.'
Derry down, &c.

To-morrow! (our hero replied in a fright)

He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of tonight.'

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