Let sons of Nimrod, mighty men,
The " painter " hunt, the grizzly bear,
Or beard the lion in his den,
Or rouse the tiger from his lair;

Destroy the slender, graceful musk,
The kangaroo of deadly kick,
The crested boar with cruel tusk,
Or river horse of hide so thick.

Let those who hurl the swift harpoon
Enjoy the " flurry " of the whale,
Let darkies tree the sly racoon,
And gourmets track the toothsome snail.

Let " sportsmen " hunt the savage hare,
By scores the ruthless pigeon shoot,
The fiery untamed rabbit snare,
Or bait the frumious bandicoot.

A nobler quest is ours by far,
A hunt, though " still, " that calls for grit;
For none escape without a scar,
And most of us get badly " bit. "

No useless sacrifice we make,
Though hot the scent and fast the pace;
No life of bird, or beast, we take,
Though blood be up, and keen the chase.

Our quarry — books — the Elzevir,
The scarce De Worde, the rare De Bry,
The early Block Book, quaint and queer,
Machlinia, or old Le Bee.

Types of Guinta, Gerard Leu,
Colard Mansion, Baskerville,
Ulric Han, or John Letou,
Primers parchment bound by Hyll.

The copy tall, the stainless marge,
The edge uncut by binder's plough,
The letter black, the paper large,
The cuts of Bewick, maps of Blaeu.

The catenati with their chains,
Le Gascon's fairy filmy grace,
And books in which poor Roger Payne's
Square solid handiwork we trace.

Chefs d'aeuvre of Eve, so hard to meet,
Of Pasdeloup, Duseuil, Derome,
The daisies gold of Marguerite,
Du Barry's rose-enveloped tome.

The abbe Cotin's twining C's,
The blazoned bees of Jacques de Thou,
Grolier's generous devise ,
The " human skin " of Doc. A — skew.

All these with ardour we pursue,
We struggle hard to lead the van,
The game's in sight! A view halloo!
The Devil take the hindmost man.