The Old Huntsman
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'VE never ceased to curse the day I signed A seven years’ bargain for the Golden Fleece.’*T was a bad deal all round; and dear enoughIt cost me, what with my daft management,And the mean folk as owed and never paid me,And backing losers; and the local bucksEgging me on with whiskies while I braggedThe man I was when huntsman to the Squire. I’d have been prosperous if I’d took a farmOf seventy acres, drove my gig and haggledAt Monday markets; now I’ve squandered allMy savings; nigh three hundred pound I gotAs testimonial when I’d grown too stiff
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