Hark! forward, away, my brave boys to…

Hark! forward, away, my brave boys to the chase, To the joys that sweet exercise yield; The bright ruddy morning breaks on us apace, And invites to the sports of the field. Hark! forward's the cry, and cheerful the morn, Then follow the hounds and the merry ton'd horn.

No music can equal the hounds in full cry; Hark! they open, then hasten away; O'er hill, dale, and valley, with vigour we fly, While pursuing the sports of the day. Hark! forward's the cry, &c.

With the sports of the field no joys can compare, To pleasures light footsteps we trace; We run down dull sloth, and we distance old care, Rosy health we o'ertake in the chase. Hark! forward's the cry, &c.