A NEW HUNTING SONG.
Now those that are low spirited I hope won’t think it wrong,
While I sing to you a verse or two of a new hunting song;
For the hunting season has set in, or else just now begun,
Our heroes all will have their fun with the dog and gun.
And a hunting they will go, will go,
And a hunting they will go, will go!
They’ll use all means, and try all schemes,
For to keep the poor man low.
With one of our brave huntsmen, I’m going to commence,
His name it was bold Bonaparte, he was a man of sense;
He hunted off from Corsica upon a game of Chance,
And hunted until he became the Emperor of France.
The next huntsman was Wellington, he’d the best of luck,
He hunted from lieutenant, till he became a Duke,
His men did fight well for him, and did his honour gain,
He done his best endeavours to have their pensions taken.
As for our hero Nelson, he hunted well for fame,
He was as bold a huntsman as e’er hunted on the main.
And for his warlike valour, he always bore the sway,
Till a cannon ball caused his downfall, all in Trafalgar Bay.
Prince Albert to this country came hunting for a wife,
He got one whom he loved dear as his own life;
Oh yes, a blooming little Queen for to dandle on his knee
With thirty thousand pounds a year paid from this country.
O’Connell he went hunting all through old Ireland’s vale,
And says he’ll go on hunting until he gets repeal.
They swear they’ll have a Parliament in Dublin once more,
And make the trade to flourish all round green Erin’s shore.
John Frost in Wales a hunting went, and well knew how to ride
He had a fine bred Chartist horse, but got on the wrong side,
If he had held the reins quite firm in his own hand,
They’d ne’er have hunted him into Van Diemen’s Land.
The Queen she went a hunting thro’ Scotland and France,
She hunted foreign countries through to learn the Polka dance;
Bobby Peel, he’s a huntsman bold, was never known to fail,
He hunted up the Income Tax, and then the Corn Law Bill.
They’re hunting up the poor man, he’s hunted every day,
And hawkers too, if they do not a heavy licence pay.
They won’t allow the poor to beg, it is a crime to steal,
For the one there’s the Union, for the other there’s the gaol.
So to conclude my hunting song, I hope you’ll all agree
While the poor are starved and hunted down, the rich will have their spree.
To complain is quite a crime, for poor you’re to remain,
The Parson says, if you’re content, Heaven you’re sure to gain.