1834] THE DEBDALE HUNT. 117 



But give me the guardsman so gallant, 



Who rode like a trooper indeed ; 

 I ne'er condescend to a callant, 



To liken a knight of his breed ; 

 I know not if nature intended 



That gentlemen only should hunt, 

 But seldom the scarlets are blended 



With anything else in the front. 



Chorus. 



Let the Bard of the North sing " Clan Alpine," 



Of his " evergreen pine," and all that ; 

 Roderick Dhu was a joke to M'Alpine, 



At a bullfinch who sprimg like a cat. 

 But talk of a Paddy, there's Plunkett, 



Who may think that he rode like a man ; 

 But his name sounds so very like Funk it, 



That " credat " — believe him who can. 



Chorus. 



! where, and O ! where was my Barnard ? 

 Is the Barnard yet merged in the Broke ? 



He went in, but 'twas only to warn hard 



Riders, ere leaping to look. 

 For lo ! by the dogs of St. Bernard, 



Like a bird from the bushes he bounds ; 



1 saw him by Lester's Piece barnyard, 

 Going well at the heel of the hounds. 



Chorus. 



There were some men whom I think deserving 



Of a ducking, for going with Drake ; 

 Their riding till next day reserving, — 



No farther allusion I make. 

 Now Sbfoivler should bring to the larder 



What a butler might serve to "mine host ; " 

 Fowler Butler, however, rode harder 



Than many who came to the post. 



Chorus. 



But there's one man who ne'er need look sheepish, 



Although his soft surname is Lamb ; 

 That country must be pretty deepish 



Over which CIaptain TiAmb cannot ram. 



