OLD OULTON LOWE 



VIII 



O ! give me that man who can ride through a run, 

 Nor engross to himself all the glory when done ; 

 Who calls not each horse that o'ertakes him a " screw," 

 Who loves a run best when a friend sees it too ! 

 Qu^situm ! Qussitum ! fill up to the brim. 

 We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. 



IX 



O ! give me that man who himself goes the pace. 

 And whose table is free to all friends of the chase ; 

 Should a spirit so choice in this wide world be seen, 

 He rides, you may swear, in a collar of green ; 

 Quassitum ! Qussitum ! fill up to the brim. 

 We'll drink, if we die for't, a bumper to him. 



1832. 



Old Oulton Lowe 



1 



BAD luck to the Country ! the clock had struck 

 two. 

 We had found ne'er a Fox in the gorses we drew ; 

 When each heart felt a thrill at the sound, " Tally- 



Ho !" 

 Once more a view hollo from old Oulton Lowe ! ^ 



II 

 Away like a whirlwind towards Calveley Hall, 

 For the first thirty minutes Pug laugh'd at us all ; 

 Our nags cur'd of kicking, ourselves of conceit. 

 Ere the laugh was with us, we were most of us beat, 



1 Note 6. 



7 



