We have a dog, they call him Sharp, he Sledmere woods did stray,
The keeper he fell in with him and fain would him betray;
He fired two barrels at the dog, intending him to kill,
But by his strength and speed of foot he tript across the hill.
All on one side and both his thighs he wounded him full sore,
Before we reached home that night with blood was covered o'er;
On recovering of his strength again, revenged for evermore,
There's never a hare shall him escape that runs on Sledmere shore.
We have a lad, they call him Jim, he's lame on all one leg,
Soon as the gun is shoulder'd up, his leg begins to wag;