He gets up, stares around him, faith! silly enough;
While Pilkington[230] near him, cries "Pr'ythee get bled."
"Oh no, never mind, Sir, I fell on my head."
Chorus. With my, &c.
But where's that hard rider, my friend Col. Bell?[231]
At the first setting off from the cover he fell;
But I see the old crop, thus the whole chase will carry,
In respectable style, the good-temper'd Harry.
Chorus. With my, &c.
With very small feet, sticking fast in the mud,