  TO shoot, to shoot, would be my delight, To shoot the cats that howl in the night; To shoot the lion, the wolf, the bear, To shoot the mad dogs out in the square. I learnt to shoot with a pop-gun good, Made out of a branch of elder-wood; It was round, and long, full half a yard, The plug was strong, the pellets were hard. I should like to shoot with a bow of yew, As the English at Agincourt used to do; The strings of a thousand bows went twang! And a thousand arrows whizzed and sang! On Hounslow Heath I should like to ride, With a great horse-pistol at my side: It is dark—hark! A robber, I know! Click! crick-crack! and away we go! I will shoot with a double-barrelled gun, Two bullets are better than only one; I will shoot some rooks to put in a pie; I will shoot an eagle up in the sky. I once shot a bandit in a dream, In a mountain-pass I heard a scream; I rescued the lady and set her free, “Do not fear, madam, lean on me!” With a boomerang I could not aim; A poison blow-pipe would be the same; A double-barrelled is my desire, Get out of the way—one, two, three, fire! |
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