The huntsman's abroad e'er the lark wakes…

The huntsman's abroad e'er the lark wakes the morn, The hare once in view all her windings he'll trace; Never tir'd, he follows the sound of the horn, The joy of the sport is the length of the chase.

A poor easy conquest keen sportsmen ne'er prize, Tho' often with puss they can scarcely keen pace: In pursuit lies the bliss, the game they despise, The joy of the sport is the length of the chase.

Thus women are roused and keenly pursu'd; While they fly, they are follow'd o'er distance and space, But despis'd and neglected, if soon they're subdu'd; The joy of the sport is the length of the chase.