20 



But when the hounds swing left again, 



And past the Ash-Holts race, 

 And circle right round Halloughton Wood, 



What tells at last is pace. 



Tor oh ! that eager morning field, 



So gallant and so gay. 

 Now hounds seem running for their fox, 



Behold their sad array : 



They scarce can trot, and far less jump — 



The prudent now go home, 

 Never thinking that the best fun 



Is only yet to come. 



But who is here so full of cheer — 



A fresh horse full of ride ? 

 Squire Sherbrooke, (9) who has nicked them, 



Running the Dumble side. 



Por an hour and forty minutes 



They have hunted through the plough — 

 See, the fox lies down before them ! 



They surely have him now. 



Not a bit ; for over Halam, 



On towards Edingley they stream ; 



Onward, onward over Hexgrave — 

 'Tis a run we sometimes dream. 



Now they're checking, we thank goodness. 

 As we reach the welcome sand ; 



Gallant Eolt (lo) has had a crumpler; 

 Oxton's Squire embraced the land. 



9. Henry Sherbrooke, Esq., of Oxton, who had been attending the 

 Rufiord Hunt meeting at Ollerton ; and on his return, coming out to look for 

 the hounds, by the greatest good luck fell in with them at this point. 



10. Captain Rolt, a writer in the sporting papers. 



