Unusually Bill Crisp's song Red Rover manages to draw sympathy from both sides of the argument.

he Red Rover - Bill Crisp

The Huntsman in red coat, stands ready and waiting.
Hounds sterns they are waving for the sport they're aching.
There's a fox in the crag, looking down to the valley,
Hears the sound of the horn, and decides not to tarry.

Then leaving his bink on the rock face he scrambles,
Slips over the top, he has no time to ramble,
Hounds drawing near, nearer yet nearer,
Take up the scent, where laid that red rover.

Then a wild burst of music, the whole valley ringing,
White black and tan on his trail they are weaving,
Twelve couples lay on him, his scent they are breasting,
Tis many long years since he had such a testing.

Many litters of cubs, he's been the father,
Old age is now telling, he can go no faster,
Many times has he run, in front of their sires,
With brush streaming out, with his heart full of fire.

But Slower and slower brush now a-trailing,
Hounds drawing nearer limbs and brearth failing,
No one to turn to no one to give succour,
Louder and louder roars the loud clammer.

His eyes they are dimming he remembers his cubbing,
He makes for the place where he lived his wild hood,
Far better a death, on the mountain side bear,
Than to die by the gun or the trap or the snare.

He falters he stumbles he turns round to face them,
With his last dying breath, he defies them to take him,
A sudden wild burst, his life it is over,
The horn sounds farewell, gone home the red rover.