88 



His skin was unrent, his bones were unbroke ; 



We laid bim down just where he fell 

 None at first had the spirit to venture a joke, 



Or laugh at so awful a sell. 



Not loud but deep were the curses we said, 

 And our hearts were o'ercome with sorrow, 



As we thought on the fox that before us lay dead, 

 And our hunt that was lost on the morrow. 



We thought as we smoothed down his narrow bed, 



And arranged each muscular limb. 

 That the horn of the huntsman might sound o'er his head, 



But never in honour of him. 



Loudly they'll talk of the deed that's been done, 



And Appleby's * squire much abuse ; 

 And the people all round will be poking their fun, 



As soon as they get at the news. 



But scarcely our mournful task was done, 

 And we thought of resuming our firing, 



When the vulpecide vowed he would give up his gun, 

 And homewards talked of retiring. 



Slowly he left, amid many a sneer, 



The field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

 Tho' oftered the brush, he declined with a tear, 



Such a basely-earned trophy of glory. 



MOEAL. 



All ye who chance to read these lines, 



This moral may espy : 

 If with old gentlemen you shoot, 



Take care to wipe their eye. 



Old George Moore, of Appleby, shot a fox accidentally. 

 From Col. J. Anstruther Thomson. 



*George Moore, of Appleby. 



