MR. THORNHILL.— 1834. 299 



On Tuesday, to none this fine country should yield, 

 Squire Thornhill Imetj and a numerous Field, 

 At Epwell White House ; no hounds have a Master 

 Can manage them better, or make them go faster. 

 Fam'd Epwell, where Redcoats erst met in array. 

 When an eloquent Bard sang the deeds of the day. 1 



Try'd Tadmarton Heath, in an instant we found him, 

 So pug scamper'd off, lest the pack should surround him. 

 But they soon press' d so hard on the old fellow's train. 

 That for safety he slyly shot into a drain. 

 Thence bolted, — away ! a most glorious burst 

 Of thirty five minutes, the Redcoats were first. 

 The burst, had the renegade held on his rate. 

 Would have left half our nags at a fence or a gate. 



Now reynard, sly rogue, had got over the bounds 

 Of the limit prescrib'd to the Warwickshire hounds ; 

 Of their courage and speed having more than enough. 

 Again sav'd his life by the aid of a sough ; 

 Where Beaufort's great Duke is at present sole ranger. 

 Excluding, by courtesy's laws, friend and stranger. 



In a desp'rate bold leap, the Master just took. 

 He dropp'd short, and was sous'd over head in a brook ; 

 A fall much regretted by all, so severe. 

 He no more on that day with the hounds could appear. 



A discussion arose, the Sportsmen must own, 

 'Twas tim'd to a hair, as the horses were blown; 

 As pug lay per due in a drain, not main earth. 

 By the laws of the chase, could they now drag him forth } 



1 Mr. Seijeant Goulburn, Author of the Epwell Hunt. 



