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The Art of Breeding, Feeding, Fighting, and Curing Cocks of the Game.
Published purely for the good, and benefit of all such as take Delight in that Royal, and Warlike Sport.
A short Treatise, wherein Cocking is proved not only Ancient and Honourable, but also Useful, and Profitable.
By _R. H._ a Lover of the Sport, And a Friend to such as delight in Military Discipline.
_Quem recitas meus est, O Fidentine Libellus, Sed male cum recitas incipit esse tuus_.
_LONDON_: Printed for _D. Brown_, at the Black Swan without _Temple-bar_, and _T. Ballard_, at the Rising-Sun in _Little-britain_. 1709.
To the Right Worshipful Sir _T. V._ Knight.
I Presume I need not here insist upon the long acquaintance, and friendship that has passed betwixt us, to press you to the Patronage of this little BOOK, when there are so many other considerations that in a manner force it upon you, as having a certain right to it; _Cocking_ being not only to you a hereditary Divertisment, which for many Ages together has by your Valiant Ancestors been carefully handed down to their Posterity, with marks of the greatest love and Honour imaginable, as when your loyal Grand-father lay Bleeding and Dying on his Turfey Beed, was thus (like a good Subject) heard to say, _My King and a good Cock I ever loved, and like a good Cock in my dread Sovereign’s service I shall now expire._
Also your Prudent Father and both your Uncles from their Infancy were great admirers of the Noble _Science_ of Cocking.
And you your self in the Morning of your Days, took to the Royal Sport, and closely followed it for many Years: even till mighty _William_ call’d you forth to signalize your Vallor in the Bloody Irish Fields of _Athlone_, and _Cannough_, where you cut through the Squadrons of the affrighted French, and made the Howling _Teagues_ fly to the Boggs for shelter.
And after this, you in the very depth of Winter, crost those dangerous _Atlantic_ Seas, came home, and with your Friends and Tenants your good Neighbours, and old Acquaintance that flocked about you to your Mannor-house, where you a noble Christmas kept, the Rich you highly treated, and the Poor were daily at your Gates relieved: each Rank according to their Quality you kindly entertained; till Spring approaching, and the rude allarms of War once more required you to take up Arms and fit your self for _Flanders_.