A Coursing Song.
Respectfully dedicated to all true lovers of the leash.
Let dukes keep their racers, my lord have his stud,
And the 'Squire sport his pack, and his prime bit of blood,
Give me a good kennel of greyhounds, and let
The best dog always win, when for coursing we're met.
Singing, gently, so ho! halloo, let 'em go,
There's no better sport than good coursing can show.
See stripped of their clothing, look, look! what a treat,
What muscular haunches, what small cat-like feet;
With a tail like a rat, and an eye like Gazelle,
Long necked, and deep chested, they're safe to run well.
Singing gently, &c.
Come, where is your starter, your judge, where is he?
Put a brace into slips, and some sport you shall see;
Hold hard! there, you horsemen! don't ride o'er the ground;
I ne'er saw this beaten but "pussy" was found.
Singing gently, &c.
So ho! there! I told you; now give her fair play;
It shall all be fair coursing; no murder, to-day:
The hares, perhaps in weight may have lost half an ounce;
But after this frost, just see how they'll bounce.
Singing gently, &c.
