356 REMINISCENCES OF 



" When my brother tumbled over the stile at 

 Shipley, I jumped the hedge on his left. I forded 

 the brook at Bowden Inn at the same place as Tom 

 Firr, while Custance jumped it on his right. I got 

 as far as Cranoe and stopped, feeling my horse's 

 heart beat against my leg. I got some gruel and 

 got home well to Bosworth Hall. My brother's 

 horse was dead beat." 



Tell me, old chap, if acquainted you've been, 



Of the doings they had t'other day : 

 How the hounds ran away and beat them all clean, 



Every man who took part in the fray. 

 Waterloo was the place where they put up their fox, 



And away they all scuttled like mad. 

 Till one and another had settled their crocks, 



Each man looking darnation sad. 

 Round Kelmarsh and Clipstone, where many got spilt ; 



Lorks bless ye, to me 'tis a wonder 

 Over Oxendon fields there was none on 'em kilt 



O'er the oxers which rattled like thunder. 

 Right on past Farndon and Bowden Inn, 



With many a tile that was broken, 

 Until but a few of the best were left in, 



Not one with much go could betoken. 

 When down to the brook below Langton they went, 



I seed there was sport, for none feared it. 

 They rode like the deil — on being over was bent — 



Harry Custance was all though as cleared it. 

 Then on towards Cranoe and Keythorpe like crows, 



The pack skid away o'er the pastures — 

 How the folks follow'd arter, the Lord only knows — 



Each and all meeting many disasters. 

 Past Hallaton Thorns, where some cove got a view, 



" Yoiks for'ard," he shouts, "tally-ho," 

 Till the Captain came up, and his whistle he blew, 



" Come, tell me then, where did he go ? " 

 " He's gone for the Welland, dead beat," cried the man ; 



Like a genius the Captain besought him ; 

 Evening came on, and then darkness began — 



You bet, he'd like to have caught him. 



Tom Firk. 



