Ballad—in Will of the Wisp

Life's a general chase, and the world is the field, Where friends, friends hunt, and brothers hunt brothers, Where to day, fairly hunted, to us others yield, And to-morrow we're hunted by others: Through calling, profession, and trade, to get rich, All wrangle, and squabble, and scramble, Through wood, dale, and bottom, o'er hedge, stile, and ditch, Through bush, and through briar, and through bramble, Then, come round me all hunters—in Life's hark away We have portions of pleasure and sorrow, And the man after game that's a hunter to-day, May be game for some hunter to-worrow.

The poor poet, of virtue who'd fain be the friend, Cries the age is corrupt, and he'll shew it; But while hunting his brains the world's manners to mend, Pale poverty hunts the poor poet: While hunting in battle for glory and fame, Grim death hunts the soldier and sailor, And the heir, out of cash, who can start no more game, Is at last hunted down by his taylor: Then, come round me all hunters—in Life's hark away We have portions of pleasure and sorrow, And the man after game that's a hunter to-day, May be game for some hunter to-morrow.

Country squires dash away, nor their noddles concern, 'Bout the world, or its jostlings, and crossings, Till, at length, to die bottom, Actaeon's they turn, Eaten up by their dogs and their horses: Indiscriminate pleasures who chases in view, While to pleasure in time fall a martyr, And the bold fortune hunter who ran down a shrew, Will find he was caught by a tarter: Then, come round me all hunters—in Life's hark away We have portions of pleasure and sorrow, And the man after game that's a hunter to-day, May be game for some hunter to-morrow.

The hunks who hunts riches, is hunted by care, Those who joy hunt are hunted by trouble, The chymist hunts gold through fire, water, and air, And is run down at last by a bubble: Folly hunts the four misanthrope close at the heels, In the moment at folly he's scoffing, And ev'n the death hunter, in coffins who deals, Is, at last, hunted into a coffin:

Virtuosos hunt butterflies, courtiers levees, Patriots hunt for the good of the nation, Hungry gluttons hunt turtle, physicians hunt sees, And are chased, in return, by vexation: A reciprocal chase are mankind and their joys, And this maxim obtains the world over, Then with reason in view, let's hunt pleasure my boys, Till by time we are hunted to cover: Then, come round me all hunters—in Life's hark away We have portions of pleasure and sorrow, And the man after game that's a hunter to day, May be game for some hunter to-morrow.