Tally-ho 217 



The horse that can cover the whole in its stride 



Is cheap at a thousand, I vow ! 

 So I draw her together, and over we sail, 



With a yard and a half to spare ! 

 Bank, bull-finch, and rail, it's the curse of the Vale ! 



But I leave it all to the mare. 



Away, away ! they've been running to kill ! 



With never a check from the find. 

 Away, away, we are close to them still, 



And the field are furlongs behind ! 

 They can hardly deny they were out of the game. 



Lost half " the Fun of the Fair," 

 Though the envious blame and the jealous exclaim 



" How that old fool buckets his mare ! " 



Who-whoop ! They have him ! They're round 

 him ; how 



They worry and tear when he's down ! 

 'Twas a stout hill-fox when they found him : now 



'Tis a hundred tatters of brown ! 

 And the riders, arriving as best they can, 



In panting plight declare, 

 " That first in the van was the old grey man 



Who stands by the old grey mare." 



I have lived my life ; I am nearly done ; 



I have played the game all round ; 

 But I freely admit that the best of my fun 



I owe to horse and hound. 

 With a hopeful heart and a conscience clear 



I can laugh in your face. Black Care ! 

 Though you're hovering near, there's no room for 

 you here. 



On the back of my good grey mare. 



G. J. Whyte-Mehille, 



