The Hunting of the Hare; With her last Will and Testament.
As 'twas performed on Bamstead Downes,
By Conny Catchers, and the
[...]r Hounds.
To a pleasa
[...]t
[...]ew Tune.
OF all delights that earth doth yield
Give me a pack of Hounds in field
Whose eccho shall throughout the sky,
Make
J
[...]ve admire our Harmony,
and wish that he a Mortal were,
to view the Pastime we have here.
I will tell you of a rare Scent,
Where many a gallant horse was spent
On
Bamstead Downs a Hare we found,
Which lead us all a smoaking round,
o're Hedg and Ditch away she goes,
admiring her approaching Foes.
But when she found her strength to wast,
She parly'd with the Hounds at last:
Kind Hounds (quoth she) forbear to kill
A harmless Hare, that nere thought ill;
and if your Master sport do crave,
I'le lead a Scent as he would have.
Hunts-man.
Away, away, thou art alone,
Make hast I say, and get thée gone▪
Wée'l give the Law for half a mile,
To sée if thou canst us beguile:
but then expect a thundring cry,
made by us, and our harmony.
Hare.
Now since you set my life so sleight,
I'
[...]e make Black-sloven turn to white▪
And
Yorkshire Gray, that runs at all,
I'le make him wish he were in Stall:
and Sorrel, he that
[...]éems to fly,
I'le make him supple ere he dye.
Let
Barnards Bay do what he may,
Or
Barrons Bay, that now and than,
Did interrupt me on my Way,
I'le make him neither set nor play
or constant
Robin, though he lye
at his advantage, what care I.
Will. Hatton he hath done me wrong,
He struck me as I run along,
And with one pat made so sore,
That I ran réeling too and fro;
but if I dye his Master tell
that fool shall ring my passing-bell.
Hounds.
Alas, poor Hare! it is our nature
To kill thée, and no other creature,
For our Master wants a bit,
And thou wilt well become the spit;
h'l eat thy flesh, we'l pick thy bone,
this is thy doom so get the gone.
Hare.
Your Master may have better chear,
For I am dry and butter's dear:
But if he please to make a frend,
He's better give a P
[...]ddings-end;
for I being kil'd, he sport will lack,
& I must hang on Hunts-man back.
Hounds.
Alas Poor Hare! we pitty thée,
If without nature 't would agrée;
But all thy dubling shifts I fear,
Will not prevail, thy death's so near
then make thy will, it may be that
may save thée, or I know not what.
Hare.
Then I bequeath my body frée,
Vnto your Masters courtesie:
And if he please my life to grant,
I'le be his game when sport is scant;
but if I dye, each gréedy hound
divided my entrals on the ground.
IMprimis, I bequeath my head
To him that a fair fool doth wed?
who hath before her maiden head lost
I would not have the Proverb crost,
w
ch l'[?] be hard mongst many qiblets▪
set the Hares head 'gainst the Goose giblets.
Item, I do give and bequeath
To Men in debt (after my death)
My subtle-scent, that so they may
Beware of such and would betray
them to a miserable Fate,
by Blood-hoinds from the Compter-gate.
Item, I to a Tirn-coate give
(That he may more obscurely live)
My swift & sudden doublings, which
Will make him politick and rich
though at the last with many wound
[...]
I wish him kild by his own hound
[...] ▪
Item, I give into their hands,
That purchase Dean and Chapters lands,
My wretched jealousies and fears,
Mixt with the salt of Orphans tears,
that long vexations may presever,
to plague them and their Heirs for ever.
Before I dye (for life is scant)
I would supply Mens proper want,
And therefore I bequeath unto
The scriv'ner (give the devil his due)
that Forgeth, Swears, & then Forswears,
(to save his credit) both my ears.
I giue to some Sequestered man,
My skin to make a Iacket on:
And I bequeath my féet to they
That shortly mean to run away:
when Truth is speake
[...], falshood's dumb,
Foxes must fly, when Lyons come.
To Fidlers (for all trads must live)
To serve for strings, my guts I give
For Gamsters that do play at tut,
And love the sport, I give my skut
but last of all (in this sad dump)
to
Tower-hill I bequeath my Rump
Hounds.
Was ever Hounds so basely crost,
Our Masters call us off so fast,
That we the scent have almost lost,
And they then must rule the rost,
therefore kind Hare we'l pardon you.
Hare.
Thanks gentle Hounds, & so adieu.
And since your Master hath pardon'd me
I'le lead you all to
Banbury,
Where
John Turner hath a larger room
To entertain all Guests that come,
to laugh & quaff in Wine & Béer,
a full Carouse to your Gallée
[...]e.
FINIS.
London, Printed for F. Coles, T. Ve [...]e, and J. Wright.