280 WARWICKSHIRE HUNT. 



But I beg to observe, that the greeting 



He gave us was just what he ought ; 

 From the very first gate not retreating, 



He remained till we came to the spot. 

 O ! his heart, wh6 can yet feel emotion. 



At the soul-stirring sound, ' Gone away,' 

 Can alone form an adequate notion. 



Of the feelings that swayed us that day. — Chorus, ad lib. 



' And now a fair field, and no favor,' 



Thought BiDDULPH, is all that I ask ; 

 Many others might think so, but waver. 



Unlike him, when put to the task. 

 'Tis said, so experienc'd a rider 



Never rode a more excellent nag ; 

 Close to hounds, never known to cast wider. 



Nor his hunter to uselessly fag. — Chorus, ad lib. 



Who, at starting, next him took his station ? 



'Twas CuxYNGHAME, late of the twelfth ; 

 He cares not for my approbation. 



As he 's got the best Meade for himself. 

 But who 's this from Combe Abbey ? no Craven ; 



At least if I judge from his place ; 

 The one with his hair dark as raven. 



Held on at a desperate pace. — Chorus, ad lib. 



My muse, you've now got beyond Baring, 



But I am not surpris'd at it too ; 

 For to give his proud hunter an airing, 



He thought that ten minutes would do. 

 Now fill we our glasses to Granville, 



The eldest call'd Bernard, I mean, 

 I'll wager a trifle, no man will 



Say a much better Sportsman has been. — Chorus, ad lib. 



