Hunting Song

THE dusky night rides down the sky,

   And ushers in the morn;

The hounds all join in glorious cry,

   The huntsman winds his horn:

    And a hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws

   Her arms, and begs his stay;

My dear, it rains, and hails, and snows,

   You will not hunt to-day.

    But a hunting we will go.

A brushing fox in yonder wood,

   Secure to find we seek;

For why, I carry'd sound and good

   A cartload there last week.

    And a hunting we will go.

Away he goes, he flies the rout,

    Their steeds all spur and switch;

Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,

   And some thrown in the ditch:

    But a hunting we will go.

At length is strength to faintness worn,

   Poor Reynard ceases flight;

Then hungry, homeward we return,

   To feast away the night:

    Then a drinking we will go.

Henry Fielding

Index to poems in the collection by Henry Fielding