Next once a year into Essex a hunting they go;
To see 'em pass along, O 'tis a most pretty shew;
Through Cheapside and Fenchurch-street, and so to Aldgate pump,
Each man with 's spurs in's horses sides, and his back-sword cross his rump.
My lord he takes a staff in hand to beat the bushes o'er;
I must confess it was a work he ne'er had done before.
A creature bounceth from a bush, which made them all to laugh;
My lord, he cried, a hare a hare, but it prov'd an Essex calf.
And when they had done their sport, they came to London where they dwell,
Their faces all so torn and scratch'd, their wives scarce knew them well;