From The Universal Songster, or, Museum of Mirth, Volume 3 (London: John Fairburn et al., 1826), page 99:


BLACK SLOVEN.

Last Valentine's day when bright Phoebus shone clear,
I had not been hunting for more than a year;
  Taleo, taleo, taleo, taleo.
I mounted Black Sloven, o'er the road made him bound,
For I heard the hounds challenge, and horns sweetly sound.
  Taleo, taleo, taleo, taleo, taleo, taleo, taleo.

Hallow into covert, old Anthony cries,
No sooner he spoke, but the fox, sir, he 'spies;
  Taleo, taleo, &c.
This being the signal, he then cracked his whip,
Taleo was the word, and away we did leap.
  Taleo, taleo, &c.

Then up rides Dick Dawson, who cared not a pin,
He sprang at the drain, but his horse tumbled in;
  Taleo, taleo, &c.
And as he crept out, why he spied the old ren',
With his tongue hanging out, stealing home to his den.
  Taleo, taleo, &c.

Our hounds and our horses were always as good
As ever broke covert, or dashed through the wood;
  Taleo, taleo, &c.
Old renard runs hard, but must certainly die,
Have at you, old 'Tony, Dick Dawson did cry.
  Taleo, taleo, &c.

The hounds they had run twenty miles now or more,
Old Anthony fretted, he cursed, too, and swore;
  Taleo, taleo, &c.
But renard being spent, soon must give up the ghost,
Which will heighten our joys when we come to each toast.
  Taleo, taleo, &c.

The day's sport being over, the horns we will sound,
To the jolly fox-hunters let echo resound;
  Taleo, taleo, &c.
So fill up your glasses, and cheerfully drink,
To the honest true sportsman who never will shrink.
  Taleo, taleo, &c.