The Hunting of the Fox. A NEW SONG.  
To the Tune of, Now the Tories that Glories, etc.  

I.  
HEy Jouler, Ringwood, and Towzer,  
Ho smoker, Drunkard, and Fly;  
Sweet-lips, Lightfoot, and Bowzer;  
Brave Bowman, Lofty, and Cry;  
And Four and Twenty brave Couple,  
To make a Pack for the Downs,  
Sure footed, and your Limbs supple;  
The Scent's hot yet on the Grounds.  
The Old White Fox is got loose again;  
We think he's gone to catch Goose again:  
His Cubs they sculk and desert amain.  
Come let's beleaguer their Holes:  
For they're passed Evil; to th' Devil  
We'll send 'em with thread bare Souls.   

II.  
They have left the City, 'tis pity,  
And their damned Party i'th' Lurch:  
If to be Hanged, 'twould be pretty,  
For Treason 'gainst King and Church.  
For Sink-ports, Venus and Juno;  
For Champion, Thunder and Spark;  
Let Swift beat for Caralino,  
And Noser wind 'em i'th' Dark.  
Like Wasps and Flies, they would bite us;  
As Wolves do Sheep, they would treat us;  
Like Crockadiles, they would eat us;  
They thirst for Innocent Blood:  
Then never scruple, but grapple  
For King and Country's Good.   

III.  
Round the Demantion o'th' Nation,  
Beat all the Banks on the Shore;  
And some leap o'er the main Ocean,  
If they are gone before.  
O surround 'em, confound 'em,  
From Seaport to City-Walls;  
If there they venture to shelter,  
Zounds, tear 'em out of their Holes:  
For making Church into Stables,  
And vaumping Kings up of Baubles,  
And forging Plots out of Fables,  
And seizing Kings in a trice;  
That the crooked Piper, might vapour  
Like Rat amongst Fifteen Mice.   

IV.  
Scour the Globe to the Axels,  
From Pole to Pole then retire,  
And centre at Mother Creswels;  
The Fox used to Harbour there:  
There, there both Wives, Whores & Virgins,  
He had them all at his Call,  
T'oblige his Captains and Surgeons,  
Till better Occasions fall.  
At Oxford late all his Cubs and He,  
To the Exclusion did all agree;  
Could not budge further, till signed & free.  
Yet Rowley roused the Rump,  
And sent 'em all to Pegg Trantams;  
And Tapsky's worn to the Stump.   

V.  
Oh, Swift's returned, and Noser,  
Their Hoofs are battered with Greet:  
The Game shows by the Opposer,  
He's lodged in Aldersgate-Street.  
Come ring a Peal with a Courage,  
The Grains o'th' Tap makes a Train;  
He lurks in the Hole to make Forage  
Of all that uses his Name.  
We'll fetch him out with Mandamus,  
And hang him with Ignoramus;  
There's none but Rebels can blame us:  
More Pardons let him not hope;  
For all his Squinting and Blinking,  
He must to th'Hatchet or Rope.    

LONDON, Printed for J. D. in the Year, 1682.