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 to make him stay;
“My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows;
You cannot hunt to-day.”
Yet a...
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman’s food,
It ennobled our hearts, and enrichèd our blood;
Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were good.
O, the Roast Beef of old England,
And O, the old English Roast Beef!
But since we have learned from effeminate France
To eat their ragouts, as well as to dance,
We...
