Where, through the pheasant-haunted brake,
Oft as the well-aim’d gun resounds,
The eager dashing spaniel bounds.
For thee of Buck my breeches tight,
Clanging whip and rowels bright,
The hunter’s cap my brows to guard,
And suit of sportive green’s prepar’d:
For since these delights are thine,
Christmas with thy bands I join.
——:o:——