%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Hunting of the HARE: / With her Last WILL and TESTAMENT. / As 'twas perform'd on Banstead-Downs, / By Coney-Catchers and their Hounds. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 03/19/2016 35519

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

OF all delights that Earth doth yield, / Give me a pack of Hounds in field, Houghton Library Hazlitt EC65 Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 126 1: 127 The Hunting of the HARE: / With her Last WILL and TESTAMENT. / As 'twas perform'd on Banstead-Downs, / By Coney-Catchers and their Hounds. The Hunting of the HARE: With her Last WILL and TESTAMENT. As ‘twas perform’d on Banstead-Downs, By Coney-Catchers and their Hounds. The Hunting of the HARE: With her Last WILL and TESTAMENT. As 'twas performed on Banstead-Downs, By Coney-Catchers and their Hounds. ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 3/19/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America animals/ nature death entertainments Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 3/19/2016 5:35:42 PM XBallad King, Joyce Created XML Version of Ballad 3/19/2016 5:35:42 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/19/2016 5:35:42 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Bell, Erik Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/19/2016 5:35:42 PM Transcriptionist Two Ward, Jayne Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/19/2016 5:35:42 PM Transcriptionist One McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/2/2015 Bibliographer Rachel LevinsonEmley Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 3/10/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/30/2015 Checker Alanna Bartolini Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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OF all Delights that Earth doth yield, Give me a Pack of Hounds in Field, Whose Eccho shall throughout the Sky, Make Jove admire our Harmony, And wish that he a Mortal were, To view the Pastime we have here. I will tell you of a rare Scent, Where many a Gallant Horse was spent; On Banstead-Downs, a Hare was found, Which led us all a smoaking Round, O'er Hedge and Ditch, away she goes, Admiring her approaching Foes.
But when she found her Strength to waste, She parly'd with the Hounds at last: Kind Hounds, quoth she forbear to kill, A harmless Hare that ne'er thought ill; And if your Master Sport do crave, I'll lead a Scent as he would have. Hunts. Away, away, thou art alone, Make haste, I say, and get thee gone; We'll give thee Law for half a Mile, To see if thou canst us beguile: But then expect a thund'ring Cry, Made by us and our Harmony.
Hare.] Now since you set my Life so light, I'll make Black-Sloe turn to White, And Yorkshire-Grey that runs at all, I'll make him wish he were in Stall, And Sorrel he that seems to fly, I'll make him supple e'er I Die. And Bard-Bay do what he can, O! Barons Bay, that now and then, Did interrupt me in my Way, I'll make him neither Jack nor Play; Or constant Robin, tho he lie At his Advantage, what care I. Will Hatton, he hath done me Wrong, He struck me as I ran along, And with one pat made me so, That I ran reeling to and fro, But if I die, his Master tell, That Fool shall ring my Passing-Bell. Hounds] Alas, poor Hare, it is our Nature To kill thee, and no other Creature, For our Master wants a bit, And thou dost well become the Spit, He'll eat thy Flesh, we'll pick thy Bone, This is thy Doom, so get thee gone. Hare.] Your Master may have better cheer, For I am dry, and Butter's dear; But, if he please to make a Friend, He'd better give a Puddings End, For being kill'd, he Sport will lack, And I must hand o' th' Huntsman's Back. Hounds.] Alas! poor Hare, we pity thee, If with our Nature 'twould agree; But all thy doubling Shifts we fear, Will not prevail, thy Death's so near, Then make thy Will, it may be that May thee, or I know not what. Hare.] Then I bequeath my Body free Unto thy Master's Courtesey, And if he please my Life to grant, I'll be his Game when Sport is scant; But if I Die, each greedy Hound, Divides my Intrails on the Ground. Imprimis] I do bequeath my Head, To Him that a fair Fool doth Wed, Who had before her Maidenhead lost, I would not have the Proverb crost, Which I have heard 'mongst many Quiblets, Set the Hare's Head 'gainst the Goose Giblets.
Item, I do give and bequeath, To Men in Debt, after my Death, My subtle Scent, that so they may Beware of such as would betray Them to a miserable Fate, By Bloodhounds from the Compter Gate. Item, I to a Turncoat give, That he may more obscurely live, My swift and sudden Doublings, which, Will make you Politick and Rich, Though at the last, with many Wounds, I wish him kill'd by his own Hounds. Item, I give into their Hands, That purchase Dean and Chapter Lands, My wretched Jealousies and Fears, Mix'd with the Salt of Orphan's Tears, That long Vexations may persever, To Plague them and their Heirs forever. Before I Die, for Life is scant, I would supply Mens proper Want; And therefore I bequeath unto The Scrivener, give the Devil his due, That forgeth, swears, and then forswears, To save his Credit, both my Ears. I give to some Sequestred Men, My Skin to make a Jacket on; And I bequeath my Feet to they, That shortly mean to run away; When Truth is Speaker, Falshood Dumb, Foxes must fly when Lyons come. To Fidlers, for all Trades must live, To serve for Strings, my Guts I give, To Gamesters that do play at Rut, And love the Sport, I give my Scut; But last of all, in this sad Dump, To Tower-Hill I bequeath my Rump. Hounds] Was ever Hounds so basely crost; Our Master calls us off so fast, That we the Scent have almost lost, And they themselves must rule the roast, Therefore, kind Hare, I pardon you, Hare. Thanks, gentle Hounds, and so adieu. And since your Master hath pardon'd me, I'll lead you all to Banbury, Where John Turner hath a large Room, To entertain all Guest that come, To laugh and quaff in Wine and Beer, A full Carouze to your Galleer.
Sold by J. Cobb in Plumbtree-Street, St. Giles's.