I have tried ev’ry form for a hare, Every patch, every furze that could shroud her, With toil unrelax’d, Till my patience is tax’d, But I cannot be taxed for hare-powder. I’ve been roaming for hours in three flats In the hope of a snipe for a snap at; But still vainly I court The percussioning sport, I find nothing for “setting my cap at!” A woodcock,--this month is the time,-- Right and left I’ve made ready my lock for, With well-loaded double, But spite of my trouble, Neither barrel can I find a cock for! A rabbit I should not despise, But they lurk in their burrows so lowly; This day’s the eleventh, It is not the seventh, But they seem to be keeping it hole-y. For a mallard I’ve waded the marsh, And haunted each pool, and each lake--oh! Mine is not the luck, To obtain thee, O Duck, Or to doom thee, O Drake, like a Draco! For a field-fare I’ve fared far a-field, Large or small I am never to sack bird, Not a thrush is so kind As to fly, and I find I may whistle myself for a blackbird! I am angry, I’m hungry, I’m dry, Disappointed, and sullen, and goaded, And so weary an elf, I am sick of myself, And with Number One seem overloaded. As well one might beat round St. Paul’s, And look out for a cock or a hen there; I have search’d round and round All the Baronet’s ground, But Sir Christopher hasn’t a wren there! Joyce may talk of his excellent caps, But for nightcaps they set me desiring, And it’s really too bad, Not a shot I have had With Hall’s Powder, renown’d for “quick firing.” If this is what people call sport, Oh! of sporting I can’t have a high sense, And there still remains one More mischance on my gun-- “Fined for shooting without any license.” THE DUEL. A SERIOUS BALLAD. “Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay.” In Brentford town, of old renown, There lived a Mister Bray, Who fell in love with Lucy Bell, And so did Mr. Clay. To see her ride from Hammersmith, By all it was allow’d, Such fair outsides are seldom seen, Such Angels on a Cloud. Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay, “You choose to rival me, And court Miss Bell, but there your court No thoroughfare shall be. “Unless you now give up your suit, You may repent your love; I who have shot a pigeon match, Can shoot a turtle dove. “So pray before you woo her more, Consider what you do; If you pop aught to Lucy Bell,-- I’ll pop it into you.” Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray, “Your threats I quite explode; One who has been a volunteer Knows how to prime and load.