362 THE ESSEX FOXHOUNDS. 



Nor furious gallops near the ewes 

 Or scares the timid flock ; 



And so by little courtesies 

 He wins the farmer's heart, 



Yet ever ready in the chase 

 To bear a foremost part. 



And so for many a winter 



The huntsman's horn shall blow, 

 And the merry music of the Hounds 



Sweep o'er the Esse.x plough ; 

 And our's be still a hunter 



That's fit to go the pace, 

 And our's on many an opening day 



To greet each well-known face. 



And when some fellow Sportsman's 



Hospitality we share, 

 And the inner man is sated 



With viands rich and rare ; 

 When a glorious blaze of scarlet 



Round the festive board we sit, 

 And the oldest port is opened, 



And the largest weed is lit ; 

 And when over mahogany 



We all ride wondrous bold. 

 And of exploits in the hunting-field 



Some startling tales are told ; 

 And when affairs in general 



A rosy hue assume. 

 As wine and wit commingled 



Go circling round the room ; 

 We'll pause 'mid shouts of laughter. 



Loud mirth and racy jest, 



