Oh, Who Would Stay Indoor, Indoor, When The Horn Is On The Hill? (Bugle: Tarantara! With The Crisp Air Stinging, And The Huntsmen Singing, And A Ten-Tined Buck To Kill! Before The Sun Goes Down, Goes Down, We Shall Slay The Buck Of Ten; (Bugle: Tarantara! And The Priest Shall Say Benison, And We Shall Ha'E Venison, When We Come Home Again. Let Him That Loves His Ease, His Ease, Keep Close And House Him Fair; (Bugle: Tarantara! He'll Still Be A Stranger To The Merry Thrill Of Danger And The Joy Of The Open Air. But He That Loves The Hills, The Hills, Let Him Come Out To-Day! (Bugle: Tarantara! For The Horses Are Neighing, And The Hounds Are Baying, And The Hunt'S Up, And Away!