The dusky night rides down tice sky

The dusky night rides down tice sky, And usher, in the morn; The hounds all join in jovial cry, The huntsman winds his horn. Then to hunting let us go, &c.

The wife around her husband throws Her arms, to make him stay: "My dear, it hails, it rains, it blows, "You cannot hunt to-day!" But to hunting we will go, &c.

Th' uncavern'd fox like lightning flies, His cunning's all awake; To gain the race he eager tries, His forfeit life the stake! When to hunting we do go, &c.

Arous'd, e'en Echo huntress turns, And madly shouts her joy; The sportsman's breast, enraptur'd burns, The chase can never cloy. Then to hunting we will go, &c.

Despairing, mark! he seeks the tide: His art can't yet prevail; For shouts the miscreant's death betide, His speed, his cunning, fail! When to hunting we do go, &c.

For, lo! his strength to faintness worn, The hounds arrest his slight; Then weary homewards we return, To drink away the night. Then to drinking we will go, &c.