For forty long years have we known him
A Cumberland yeoman of old
And thrice forty years shall have perished
Ere the fame of his deeds shall grow cold
No broadcloth nor scarlet adorned him
Nor buckskin that rivals the snow
But of plain Skiddaw grey was his garment
And he wore it for work, not for show

For the horn of the hunter's now silent
On the banks of the Ellen no more
Nor in Denton you'll hear its wild echo
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldew's roar

When darkness at night draws her mantle
And the coal round the fire bids us still
Our childrеn will say "Father, tell us
Some talеs of the famous John Peel"
We'll tell them of Ranter and Royal
Of Britain and Melody too
How they put up our fox at Keswick
And chased him from scent to full view

For the horn of the hunter's now silent
On the banks of the Ellen no more
Nor in Denton you'll hear its wild echo
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldew's roar
From Denton to Brighten to Skiddaw
Through Isel, Bewaldeth, Whitefield
We galloped like madmen together
To follow the hounds of John Peel
So long may we hunt with each other
Till the hand of old age you can feel
And men feel like sportsmen and brothers
So remember the hounds of John Peel

For the horn of the hunter's now silent
On the banks of the Ellen no more
Nor in Denton you'll hear its wild echo
Clear sound o'er the dark Caldew's roar