I04 Frank BeerSj Huntsman. 



XLI. 



Then up by Canons Ashby town for half a mile or more 

 Our beaten fox we viewed at length still travelling on before, 

 Sterns down, heads up, the pack upon the line now cease to 



stoop, 

 But course their fox, just one short turn, a snatch, and then 



Whoo-hoop. 



XLII. 



Thus died as good and stout a fox as ever stood in front 



Of fleetest hounds in England found, The Duke of Grafton's 



hunt, 

 An hour and thirty minutes ran, his fame shall ne'er diminish, 

 For he was pressed, and sorely pressed, from find unto the 



finish. 



XLIII. 



He made his point, but all too late, for on his footsteps flying 

 Still pressed the pack so fleet of foot ; he never ceased from 



trying 

 To shake them off ; in vain he sought some refuge to discover, 

 And in the open did his stout pursuers roll him over. 



XLIV. 



His race was run, his course was done, his gallant efforts 



ended, 

 What e'er his former life had been his death was truly splendid, 

 With tuneful tongue his requiem sung the pack that ran and 



caught him, 

 And Beers will ever hug himself to hand that day he brought 



him. 



XLV. 



When home returning from the run which so much sport 



afforded, 

 That day's achievements I resolved should not go unrecorded. 



