_AN "EPPING FOREST" CHORUS._
"For ever and again the Corporation of London send down their
_protégés_, the young City sportsmen who may, or may not, know
how to load a gun, but who are very keen on 'Sport.' Then the
herds are driven by beaters towards the gallant huntsmen, the
forest re-echoes with the report of guns, and next day you
can trace the whereabouts of the wounded bucks and deer by
tracks of blood among the bushes, and by impressions on the
grass where the maimed creature has fallen in its flight for
life."--_Pall Mall Gazette_.
_Chorus of Huntsmen._
Oh, we like,--we love the Merry Green Wood,
As should Huntsmen bold of the proper sort!
And we would hit the stag _if we possibly could_,--
As is meet with such palpable sons of Sport.
Away to the forest we cheerily run,
And wait for the beaters' welcome cry;
And though we are new to the use of a gun,
What matters? At anything we'll let fly!
So Sing hey, sing ho, for the startled deer;
We warrant we'll hit him, if _he_ comes near
And we'll send him lame and limping away,
With a shot he'll remember for many a day!
For marry come up! But it would be absurd
To expect a bold Sportsman to bag the whole herd!
So he blazes away; and he hits one or two;
And they hobble away in some thicket to lie,
And, after a day or two's suffering, die;
We don't see precisely what more we could do,
Than shout that "we love the Merry Green Wood!"
And would settle the stag,--_if we possibly could!_
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