YE WEARIE WAYFARER 



In a rattling gallop with hound and horse 



You may chance to reverse the medal 

 On the sward, with the saddle your loins 

 across, 



And your hunter's loins on the saddle ; 

 In the stubbles you'll find it hard to frame 



A remonstrance firm, yet civil, 

 When oft as ''our mutual friend" takes aim, 

 Long odds may be laid on the rising game. 



And against your gaiters level ; 

 There's danger even where fish are caught 



To those who a wetting fear ; 

 For what's worth having must aye be bought, 

 And sport's like life and life's like sport, 



'' It ain't all skittles and beer." 



The honey bag lies close to the sting. 



The rose is fenced by the thorn, 

 Shall we leave to others their gathering, 

 And turn from clustering fruits that cling 



To the garden wall in scorn ? 

 Albeit those purple grapes hang high. 



Like the fox in the ancient tale. 

 Let us pause and try, ere we pass them by. 



Though we, like the fox, may fail. 



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