Classic Poem

All you that are low-spirited, I think it won't be wrong
To sing to you a verse or two of my new hunting song;
For hunting is in season, the sport has just begun,
And heroes they will have their fun with their fine dog and gun.

A-hunting me will go, my boys, a-hunting we will go,
We'll lay out schemes and try all means to keep the poor man low.

It's one of our brave huntsmen, my song I will commence,
Brave Bonaparte I will begin, he was a man of sense;
From Corsica he did set off to hunt upon a chance,
He hunted until he became the Emperor of France.

And Nelson for his hunting he got the nation's praise,
He was the greatest huntsman that hunted on the seas;
He and his warlike terror, a-hunting bore away,
A musket ball proved his downfall in Trafalgar Bay.

Now Wellington at Waterloo, he had the best of luck,
He hunted from a lieutenant till he became a duke;
But men that did fight well for him, and did him honour gain,
He tried the very best he could to get their pensions ta'en.

O'Connor round the country, a-hunting he did go,
With meetings called in every town to tell the truth, you know;
The tyrants tried to keep him down but that was all in vain,
The people swear they'll back him up and have their rights again.

Prince Albert to this country came a-hunting for a wife,
He got one that he said he loved far dearer than his life;
Oh yes, he got the blooming Queen to dandle on his knee,
With thirty thousand pounds a year paid from this country.

They're hunting up the beggars through the country every day,
And hawkers if they do not all a heavy licence pay;
They won't allow the poor to beg, it's against the law to steal,
For the beggars there's the Bastille and the others go to jail.

Now to conclude my hunting song, I hope you will agree,
The poor men they are starving while the rich will have their spree;
And to complain it is a crime, so poor you must remain,
The parson says, ‘Contented be, and you will heaven gain.’