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 See: cries Jane by that genial light, The magic of this eye. To chase the stag, the fox, the hare, Should joys domestic yield? Cries Jane, dear John, avoid the snare, That lurks in danger’s field. Yoics! tantivy! soho: Dear John, cries Jane if life's your care, Of tantivy— O, beware:

Now, gentle Jane! I mount my mare, And spurs clap to her side: Now, cries Jane, where's the tender care You swore to me your bride. I’ll chase the stag, the fox, the hare, Though Death in ambush hide! Cries Jane, dear John, of fate beware Lest mischief should betide! Yoics! tantivy! soho! Now John convinc'd, dismounts his mare. Of tantivy—O, beware!