360 THE ESSEX FOXHOUNDS. 



" Oh ! come away, don't dig him," 

 Loud answers Parson Fane, 



" So stout a fox another day 

 Should live to run again." 



But now no sound of laughter 



From all the field is heard, 

 As once again for Man Wood, 



Our master gives the word. 

 There lack not eager sportsmen, 



Nor lovers of the chase, 

 For all our best and bravest 



Have come the Meet to grace. 



But e'en the keenest spirits 



Confess their sport is o'er, 

 When we turn to draw a second time 



Coverts disturbed before, 

 And in those deep and holding rides 



Once more to plunge their steeds, 

 Forbear, but in the bordering lane. 

 They careless sit with loosened rein. 

 While to the dregs their flasks they drain, 

 Nor listen for hounds' opening strain, 



But chaff and puff their weeds. 



Scarce one appears to give a thought 



To the doings of the pack, 

 As to Brickhills for a second fox 



Bailey turns slowly back ; 

 And when we find that covert 



Deserted for the day, 

 And the last summons of the horn 

 Sadly upon the breeze is borne, 

 The crowd that shone so gay at morn 



Melts gradually away. 



