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Then lord and baron, knight and banneret,
In honest true old English friendship met,
Returned to Harewood, talking of the chase,
And pleasure shone on every noble face:

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For nothing drives old wrath so far away
As such a chase as these had seen that day.
No city's pomp, no pampered courtier's pride
Yields satisfaction like the sportive ride,
When the whole mind in hunting takes delight,
And Pleasure greets returning Health at night.
Songs of the chase that evening were not sung,—
To strains like these the minstrel's harp was strung: