The Royal Chace Poem by Cornelius Arnold

On its being inserted in the Papers, that the K** had killed Forty-seven Boars with his own Hand.

God prosper long our noble King,
Our Lives and Safeties all;
A famous Hunting once there did
In H--n--r befall.


The K-- rode out attended well,
By many a gallant Peer;
In comely Order all array'd,
With Bow and warlike Spear:


A glorious Sight! and as they rode,
The K-- a Vow did make,
That he would then, in G--r--n Woods,
His Royal Pastime take;


In Hunting of the foaming Boar,
Sure ne'er was fitter Place;
Odzooks! could you but then have seen,
The Joy in ev'ry Face.


The Chace began-but here's a Blank,
I can't describe the Sport;
I was not there upon my Word,
I stay'd behind at Court:


But sure it must be dreadful Work,
If what is said be true;
How G-- with his own Hand no less,
Than Seven and Forty slew:


The Bells did ring, the Boys did shout,
And run about like wild;
The People's Hearts were all right glad,
And Y--r--h's Countess smil'd;


Quo' she, how greatly blest am I,
In such a Man of Might?
Who if such Feats could do To-day,
What may'nt I hope at Night?


St. George he is for England,
St. Dennis is for France;
Now sing, brave Boys, God bless the King,

Honi soit qui mal y pense.