FARMING AND FOX-HUNTING 



With what care-laden clouds is the stable o'erhung. 

 The old ones need nursing, rough-riding the young ; 

 Too restive is one e'en for Rarey to tame. 

 One is wrong in the stifle, another foot-lame. 



Bit-sore, not an oat will old Tearaway touch. 

 Give Plumper the muzzle, he feeds overmuch ; 

 Now some favourite mare is heard biting her crib. 

 Now a stable-boy kill'd by a kick in the rib. 



Tom has always the cud of some grievance to chew. 



Now he loses his temper at losing a shoe. 



Now he blows his own nose when he hears his horse 



sneeze. 

 Ever vext and perplext by such trifles as these. 



What with horses and grooms, what with daughters 



and sons. 

 Still behind him sits Care through the fastest of runs ; 

 Wealth I declare a delusion and snare, 

 Reduced to one horse I have only one care. 



Farming and Fox-hunting 



FARMERS, listen to the ditty 

 Of a friend who loves you weli ; 

 If you will not, more the pity, 

 Nothing but the truth I tell. 



Let us while we each our work do 



In good fellowship unite ; 

 Why should we, as Russ and Turk do, 



Fox-hunters and Farmers fight ? 



183 



