HUNTING SONGS 



XI 



Harry Brooke, as a bird o'er the billow would skim, 

 Must have flown to the furthermost brink ; 



For the moisture had reach'd neither garment nor 

 limb. 



There was not a speck the boot polish to dim, 

 Nor a mud-stain to tarnish the pink. 



XII 



The fox looking back, saw them fathom the tide. 



But was doom'd, ere they cross'd it, to die ; 

 Who-whoop may sound sweeter by far on that side. 

 But, thinks I to myself, I've a twenty-mile ride. 

 And as yet my good leather is dry. 



XIII 



Life-guardsman ! why hang down in sorrow thy 

 head ? 

 Could our pack such a fast one outstrip ? 

 Looking down at the ditch where his mare lay for 



dead, 

 " Pray, which way to Aston," he mournfully said. 

 And uptwisted the hair of his lip. 



XIV 



Though of milk and of water I've made a long tale. 



When a livelier liquor's display'd, 

 I've a toast that will suit either claret or ale, 

 Good sport to the Kennel ! success to the Pail ! 

 And a health to the pretty Milk-maid ! 



1837. 

 46 



