You'll rejoice my kind mother to hear once again, I've been shooting with pleasure and health in my train, The Major and I went a sporting together, Traversing whole regions of sweet mountain heather, And brought back such a number of very fine grouse They charm'd all the ladies and pleas'd all the house, But unluckily just in the bar while I stopp'd, To present Mrs. Goodlad the fruits I had cropp'd, A fine powder'd Cockney just took up my gun, Crying "shooting dear sar must be wery good fun, "Pray vitch is the lock sar? and vitch is the handle?" When off went the piece like the snuff of a candle, My unfortunate fingers at once caught the powder, While the poor little Londonite felt at his shou'der I could'nt help laughing in spite of my smart, To see how he trembled and shook to the heart, Declaring "'pon honour 'tvas wery absurd, "That the gun should go off vithout saying a vord." The ladies sweet creatures all full of compassion, Put my hand in a sling which they said was the fashion, And who would not gladly put up with a scar, To pass for a vet'ran just come from the war? So in order to make of the matter the best, I prepared for the ball tho' I grinn'd while I drest, For that night to the Granby the people were flying And you know my dear mother I dance while I'm dying. In fact we enjoy'd a most excellent ball, And a very fine supper to finish it all, Where elegance, plenty, and order presided, A trio that ought to be never divided. 698