The general Hunt

To horse, ye jolly sportsmen, And greet the new-born day: Incessant, lo! thro' Nature's field, Each creature hunts his prey. And a-hunting, &c.

Dame Nature teaches Reynard craft T'o'er reach the feather'd flocks; And we pursue the chiding dogs, While they run down the fox.

Mankind hunt one another; Your great men hunt the small; Some hunt for heav'n, and some for hell: Old Satan hunts us all.

Some fain would hunt for honour, A game that's hard to find; The needy hunt for charity, And may go hunt the wind.

Our patriots loudly bellow, The nation's desp'rate case, While all their stir and bustle's made In hunting out a place.

Full cry the tories hunt the whigs, Who in their turn pursue; And running one another down, Run down their country too.

The lawyer hunts out quibbles, Your title to maintain; He'll hunt the right 'till it be wrong, Then hunt it back again.

The toper daily hunts his pot, Both care and sense to drown; Whilst gamesters hunt another's purse, And lose sight of their own.

The lasses hunt their lovers, Each lover hunts his lass: The fop, in chace of his dear face, Hunts out his looking-glass.

O'er hill and dale, with bound and born, Lets hunt, boys, while 'tis light; Then joyous we'll o'er flowing bowls Revive the chase at night. And a-hunting, &c.