Hark! the cry,
'A slave ran by!'
Quick, pursue the track;
Don't delay—
He'll get away
Ere we get him back.

I regard
The large reward
By the master giv'n;
And I go
Through rain and snow,
As by it I'm driv'n.

I am, sir,
The master's cur,
As I'm known to scout
Through the fen,
The bog, and glen,
When a slave is out.

Hark! the cry,
'A slave's gone by!'
Quick, pursue the track;
Don't delay—
He'll get away
Ere we get him back!