The sun from the east tips the mountains with gold,|
And the meadows all spangled with dew drops behold
Hear the lark's early matin' proclaims the new day,
And the horn's cheerful summons rebukes our delay.
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,
While jocund we follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow the hounds in full cry.
Let the drudge of the town make riches his sport,
And the slave of the state hunt the smiles of the court.
No care or ambition our pleasures annoy
But innocence still gives its zest to our Joy.
Mankind are all hunters in various degree
The priest hunts a living, the lawyer a fee;
The doctor a patient, the courtier a place;
Tho often, like us, their sports end in disgrace.
The cit hunts a plumb while the soldier hunts fame.
The poet a dinner, the patriot a name;
And the artful coquet, tho she seems to refuse,
Yet in spite of her air she her lover pursues.
Let the bold & the busy hunt glory & wealth
All the blessings we ask is the blessing of health.
With hounds and with horns thro the woodlands to roam,
And when tired abroad find contentment at home.