The blush of Aurora now tinges the…

The blush of Aurora now tinges the morn, And dew-drops bespangle the sweet-scented thorn; Then sound, brother sportsman, sound, sound the gay horn, Till Phoebus awakens the day. And see, now he rises in splendor, how bright! I, O, Paean for Phoebus the god of delight; All glorious in beauty, now vanish the night, Then mount, boys, to horse and away.

What raptures can equal the joy of the chase? Health, bloom, and contentment appear in each face, And in our swift coursers what beauty and grace, While we the fleet stag do pursue! At the deep and harmonious sweet cry of the bounds, Struck by terror, he bursts from the forest's wide bounds, And tho' like the lightning he darts o'er the grounds, Yet still, boys, we keep him in view.

When chas'd till quite spent, he his life does resign, Our victim we'll offer at Bacchus's shrine, And revel in honor of Nimrod divine, That hunter so mighty of fame: Our glasses then charge to our country and king; Love and beauty we'll charge too, and jovially sing, Wishing health and success, till we make the house ring, To all sportsmen and sons of the game.