6i 



But hark gentle reader, a tale I will tell, 



Come lend me a moment I pray, 

 A fox is on foot, he is crossing the dell. 

 The banker, who bred him, has seen him, 'tis well, 



Hold hard, let him get well away. 



Tally ho ! see the pack, how they fly to his cry ; 



A crash through the woodland resounds ; 

 The banker's view halloa goes up to the sky, 

 He marks the good fox with a wink of his eye, 



And a smile for the clustering hounds. 



Out over the brook we are streaming away, 



The banker leads on like a man, 

 He pilots old Bridegroom, the big heavy grey. 

 Who is such a wonder to gallop and stay, 



With strength fit to go in a van. 



And when at the check undergraduates foil 



The fallow down wind of the line. 

 The banker's warm blood soon commences to boil. 

 He says " If you press you will certainly spoil 



" The sport," so he kicks up a shine. 



The huntsman looks grateful and makes his cast good. 



The ground puts the hounds to the test. 

 Away on the left he has skirted the wood, 

 This gallant old varmint so full of tough blood. 

 He seems to be one of the best. 



