  BY GEORGE KNIGHT, SHOEMAKER. Tune.—Have you heard of a frolicsome ditty. Come, gentlemen, attend to my ditty, All you that delight in a gun; And, if you’ll be silent a minute, I’ll tell you a rare piece of fun. Fal lal, &c. It was on the tenth of November, Or else upon Martinmas-day, A gentleman, Got a hare-skin well stuff’d with hay. Then into the field he convey’d her, And set her against a hedge-side; Our gunners were rambling the fields thro’, So that pussy was quickly espy’d. Mr Tindal, the first that espy’d her, Said that he lov’d a roast hare, And that he would have her tit supper, For he for the law did not care. The better his purpose to answer, He charged his gun well with slugs, And firing right manfully at her, He hat her betwixt the two lugs. But when that he went for to seize her, He found himself cursedly bit; And soon flung her down in a passion, And look’d as if he’d been b——t. The next was Will Dunn, our painter, Who wanted a novelty bit; And, taking good aim, let fly at her, And kill’d her stone-dead on her seat. When firing, he swore he had maul’d her, He ne’er miss’d a hare in his life; And then in great trouble was he, To get her safe home to his wife. The next was John Walker, a tailor, He thinking poor puss for to nap, Indeed, he endeavour’d to kill her, But his gun very often did snap. But then making all things in order, He at her let furiously drive; Our serjeant was to have her tit supper, To make them all merry belyve. But I think he was damnable saucy, She ne’er was intended for he; He must get something else to his cabbage, For it and hare flesh ’ll ne’er agree. The next was Joe Dixon, the barber, One morning he rose in great haste, And swore he would have hare tit his supper, And give all his neighbours a taste. When firing, he swore he had kill’d her; O then in great trouble was he, How that he might safely convey her, For fear any body should see. The next was John Blythman, esquire; Indeed he was much to blame, To kill a hare with a gun is right cruel, Tho’ gentlefolks may think it game. Then Grundy came cursing and swearing, Which is the chief end of his talk, He shot her, and swore by his maker, He’d kill’d her as dead as a mawk. But when that he went for to seize her, And found it a skin stuff’d with hay, He flung her down in a passion, And cursed, and so went away. Now I’d have you all take care for the future, And mind very well what I say; Before that you fire, see the hare run, Lest it prove a hare skin stuff’d with hay. But I think they were all finely tricked, Beside wasting powder and shot: Let us have a good drink at the fancy, So, landlady, fill us the pot. Here’s the gentleman’s health that contriv’d it, For he is a right honest soul; We’ll laugh and we’ll merrily sing, When we’re over a full flowing bowl. Fal lal, &c. |
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