Here's a health to every sportsman, be he stableman or lord, <br />If his heart be true, I care not what his pocket may afford; <br />And may he ever pleasantly each gallant sport pursue, <br />If he takes his liquor fairly, and his fences fairly, too. <br /> <br />He cares not for the bubbles of Fortune's fickle tide, <br />Who like Bendigo can battle, and like Olliver can ride. <br />He laughs at those who caution, at those who chide he'll frown, <br />As he clears a five-foot paling, or he knocks a peeler down. <br /> <br />The dull, cold world may blame us, boys! but what care we the while, <br />If coral lips will cheer us, and bright eyes on us smile? <br />For beauty's fond caresses can most tenderly repay <br />The weariness and trouble of many an anxious day. <br /> <br />Then fill your glass, and drain it, too, with all your heart and soul, <br />To the best of sports — The Fox-hunt, The Fair Ones, and The Bowl, <br />To a stout heart in adversity through every ill to steer, <br />And when Fortune smiles a score of friends like those around us here<br /><br />Adam Lindsay Gordon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hunting-song/
