152 



Then ecce Prince Orlines,(6) who's a la distance, 

 Without his d — d head, which is freedom in France; 

 But alas ! long before they reach Burrow Hill 

 ^lonsieur blows his 'orse to von total stan' still. 

 No Frenchified hunters for me. 



Now bobbing along, see jolly fat Blower,(7) 

 Flanks and shoulders all blood, going slower and slower. 

 ^' Sarvant, your Holiness, what both a head and a shoe? 

 Thank God, I'm not last, for I've beat Parly vous." 

 The lads of Quorendon for me. 



Then, half up the hill, stops heavy Jew Francore, 

 His horse taking root, and himself at an anchor; 

 And further beyond stops White Bread, (8) the brewer. 

 Who, last from the first, has made the Grand Tour. 

 The lads of Quorendon for me. 



Then smoke the old Quiz, beginning to flag, 

 Somerset, Gad Zooks ! on his new staring nag : 

 Why look ye ! observe ! he a toe can scarce wag, 

 Yet of him to-morrow friend Charley wiJl brag. 

 The lads of Quorendon for me. 



Next vaulting Tam Grah'm,(9) on horse taking whim, 

 Plunging and prancing like the George at an inn, 

 Comes spank thro' a hedge with a thundering crush, 

 And leaves half his brogues and a lug on a bush. 

 The lads of Quorendon for me. 



6. Prince of Orleans. 7. A woolcomber, uf Leicester. 



The late Samuel Whitbread. 9. The present Lord Lynedoch. 



