Merry drollery, or A Collection of [brace] jovial poems, merry songs, witty drolleries intermix'd with pleasant catches. The first part / collected by W.N., C.B., R.S., J.G., lovers of wit.

The Hunting.

A Fox, a Fox, up Gallants to the field, List to the merry cry that sweetness yields; Joves high-bred boy rides mounted on a Tun; Selenia makes his lasie Ass to run In persuit of the chace, With which may none compare, Neither for four miles race, Nor hunting of the Hare. Joyn Musick to the Cry, that hollow rocks May eccho forth the hunting of the Fox.

The Fox hath lost the field, and left the Town, And up your barly hill showrs up and down, With fear inforc'd, weak Reynold seems to daunt The carriage of the warlike Elephant; But hark, the Horns do blow, And all the huntsmen shout, There goes the Game, I know, But Tickler drives him out; Joyn Musick, &c.

Ride, ride St. George, he's stole into the bush, Old swag-pot makes him straight from thence to rush, Then creeps into the Vine, and there doth earth; O heavenly cry, exceeding earthly mirth! Hark Youland, and Pottle, Old Gusquin, and Rainsbolt, But hark how Pim doth Tattle Now he's got to the hole; Joyn Musick, &c.

The Fox quite spent, about the Town he reels, And now in view he's followed at the heels; Then climbe the tree, that climbing was his fall, And to that fall came in the Huntsmen all: Then Sug, and Foot, Swilback, Cavil, and speckled Dyer, Toss, Swagger, and Spendall Tug him through dirt and mire; Now joyn our horn & voices all, that hollow rocks May eccho forth the hunting of the Fox.