The oath that we have taken, which some seem much to fear, Is the duty of each subject as well as volunteer, Tho’ we may have no property to fall a prey to France, Yet for our friends and families our service should advance. Ye loyal lads of Hexham, Since danger now appears, Join the arm’d association Call’d the Hexham Volunteers.
While Captain Carr commands we will stand firm and true, His knowledge as an officer will stand a strict review, In spite of party slander, our oath we will maintain, Obedient to our officers, and peace for to regain. And if an opportunity Of courage for to shew, I hope the Hexham Volunteers Will to their oath stand true.
So to conclude these lines I’ve made, I hope you’ll all agree, And drink a health to Captain Carr, and all his family, And to our other officers, much praise to whom is due, And to the Hexham Volunteers, so loyal and so true. British courage once again To England peace restore, And plant the olive in a soil More lasting than before.
Doctor Moff once more employs the burden of my song, He drinks a health to him that’s blest with constitution strong: He laughs and winks at him that drinks, and he’ll bett five pounds, sir, He’ll toast his lass, and drink his glass, and tally O the hounds, sir.
And every morn this priest does rise, he does put on his boots, sir, For chance the hounds may come this way, to join in the pursuit, sir: He’ll risk a fall, o’er hedge or wall, or nearest the hounds, sir, And if he can, he leads the van, and tally O the hounds, sir.
Saint Stephen’s day, that holy morn, as he was reading mass sir, He heard the music of the hounds, the bugles they came past, sir; He shut the book, his flock forsook, and streight threw off his gown, sir, He mounts his horse, to join the course, and tally O the hounds, sir.
This parson had a pair to wed, the hounds they came in view sir, He threw his surplice o’er his head, and bad the pair adieu, sir: They both did pray, that he might stay, for they were not half bound, sir! He bid them go to bed that night, he’d tally O the hounds, sir.
What think you of this priest of mine, he’s sure an honest heart, sir, His praise is worthy of my song, he has neither pride nor art, sir: He ne’er opprest, the poor distrest, none e’er his praise disowns, sir, As he thinks’t no crime, at any time, to tally O the hounds, sir.