HUNTING SONGS 



II 



Good luck to the 'prentice by whom they were 



made ! 

 His shears were a ploughshare, his needle a spade ; 

 May each landlord a pair to this pattern bespeak, 

 The Breeches that lasted us three days a week. 



Ill 



The fox is away and Squire Royds made it known. 

 Setting straightway to work at a pace of his own ; 

 Past him sped Tollemache, as instant in flight 

 As a star when it shoots through the azure of 

 night. 



IV 



They who witness'd the pack as it skirted the Spa, 

 By the head they then carried a struggle foresaw ; 

 At their heels a white horse with his head in the 



air. 

 But his bridle was loose, and his saddle was bare. 



May Peel (near the Breeches at starting o'erthrown, 

 Where he left the impression in mud of his own) ; 

 When next he thinks fit this white horse to be- 



straddle. 

 See less of the Breeches and more of the saddle. 



52 



