AUGUST THE TWELFTH.
OVER-NIGHT.
I.
YOU must wake, and call me early—call me early—Willie Weir,
To-morrow is the glorious Twelfth, that comes but once a year;
The cockneys and the keepers will all be out of doors,
And I'm to shoot over the moors, Willie—I'm to shoot over the moors.
II.
There's many a pack of pointers, but none that point likemine;