A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.)/A Coursing Song
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.
They're running like wildfire; the black dog's a turn:
Now the blue un's a go-by—she's off for the fern;
He has thrown, and has miss'd her; the black dog is in;
He's a mortal good judge that can tell which will win.
Singing gently, &c.
The black dog is leading the blue dog a nose;
She makes for the spinney—my heart, how she goes:
The black dog, a thousand! A-done, sir—a-done!
He has her! he hasn't! my soul, what a run!
Singing gently, &c.
They're getting the slows on, they're all of them beat,
It's rarely a sportsman enjoys such a treat;
Now, Topper! now, Bugle! they'll kill her!—they won't;
They have her!—they haven't!—she beats 'em!—she don't!
Singing gently, &c.
See, the Judge takes his hat off, and gets from his horse,
And so, undecided's this wonderful course;
They've managed to kill her; but no man can tell
Which won it, they both ran so honest and well!
Singing gently, &c.
Come, fill up your glasses, whatever you drink,
(I shall hold him a "muff" who endeavours to slink,)
Here's success to the "long tails," their owners, and all,
Who are fond of the sport, whether great folks or small.
Singing gently, &c.
Hyrocrisy is a masquerade dress lent by the devil, which will be expected to be personally returned by the wearer.