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Farewel dearest Nancy, since we must parted be,
I'll away to the mountains where none shall me see,
The rocks shall hide me, & bring me to my grave,
So farewel Nancy, since I cannot you have.
a Favourite HUNTING SONG.
HArk! the huntsman's begun to sound the shrill horn,
come quickly unkennel the hounds,
'Tis a beautiful glittering golden ey'd morn,
we’ll chase the fox over the grounds.
See yonder sits Reynard so crafty and fly,
come saddle your coursers apace,
The hounds have a scent, and are all in full cry,
they long to be giving him chace.
The horsemen are mounted, & steeds feel the spur,
and swiftly they scour it along,
Rapid after the fox runs each musical cur,
follow, follow, my boys, is the song.
Over mountains and vallies they skim it away,
now Reynard's almost out of sight.
But sooner than lose him we'll spend all the day
in hunting, for that's their delight.
By eager pursuing they have him at last,
he's so tir'd, poor rogue, down he lies;
Now starts up afresh, young Snap has him fast,
he trembles, kicks, struggles, and dies.
GLASGOW,
Printed by J, & M..Robertson, Saltmarket, 1802.
