MR. J. CORBET— 1807. 83 



On a broken-knee'd chesiiut, with very good shape, 

 Tho' in muffle array' d, and without the black cape, 

 Pemberton I kept well in the front ail the while, 

 And was carried throughout in a Brummagem style ; 

 But not so was his groom, on a hard-pulling bay. 

 Which for some time kept tearing and running away. 

 But at Swarford stood still, and was done for the day. 



With his hat in his hand, looking out for a gate. 

 Neither looking nor riding by any means straight. 

 Mister Stubbs, a crack rider no doubt in his time. 

 But who hunting on Sunday once deem'd it no crime, 1 

 Making desp'rate play thro' some fine muddy lanes. 

 And by nicking and skirting, got in for his pains ; 

 High waving the brush, and with pleasure half mad. 

 Roaring out, ' Yoicks, have at 'em ! we've kill'd him, my lad !' 



In a state of delight, far exceeding all bounds. 

 See the veteran Squire 3 in the midst of his hounds ; 



1 Mr. T. Pemberton, of Birmingham, who had some very famous 

 horses, and joined the Hunt for several years. 



2 ' To explain this mystery, (says Mr. Goulburn,) it is necessary 

 to inform my readers of an anecdote recorded of this gentleman, who 

 for a long time kept a pack of foxhounds which were the terror of all 

 foxes, and the delight of all Sportsmen in the neighbourhood. Nay, 

 so anxious was he for the sport, and so fearful of a blank day, that he 

 kept several bag foxes to afford amusement. In feeding these on a 

 Sunday morning, one of them made his escape, though not unobserved 

 by this keen Sportsman, who exclaimed — 'What ! you thought you had 

 me, eh? but I'll be a match for you;' and so saying, he immediately 

 let loose the keen pack, \vhich killed poor reynard, after a run of above 

 20 miles, in a village when the inhabitants were just returning from 

 Divine Service! ' 



3 Mr. Corbet, Master of the hounds. 

 F 2 



