lo ''The Hiinvortli Fox Chase'' in 1775. 



Attend, jolly sportsmen, I'll sing you a song. 

 Which cannot help pleasing the old and the young ; 

 I'll sing of a famous old fox and his wiles. 

 Which led us a chase of at least fifty miles. 

 I'll tell you a tale of such men and such hounds, 

 With what courage they'd hie over all sorts of grounds ; 

 See hounds vie with hounds, and how men with men strive, 

 Old Draper might rue that he were not alive ! 

 At Hurworth, famed village, as soon as 'twas light, 

 We feasted our eyes with a ravishing sight ! 

 Each sportsman had pleasure and joy in his face, 

 There horses and hounds were all ripe for the chase. 

 But first the Commander-in-Chief let me name 

 The Lord of Kirkleatham, of true honest fame, 

 A friend to good men, but profess'dly a foe. 

 To villains with four legs as well as with two. 

 We had not tried long before ' Rafter ' gave mouth. 

 Esteemed by our pack as the standard of truth ; 

 They quickly flew to him and instant declare 

 That ' Rafter ' was right ; for a fox had been there. 

 And, trust me, he proved a notorious blade. 

 His name was ' Old Caesar,' and plunder his trade. 

 His namesake, in all the great battles he won. 

 Spilt less blood by gallons than this rogue had done. 

 Unkennel'd at Airyholme, he led us a round. 

 In which we might run about four miles of ground ; 

 Then back to the earth, but the stoppers took care 

 To baulk him from making his quarters good there. 

 Disdaining such treatment, he flourished his brush. 

 And seemed to say — ' Sportsmen, I care not a rush ; 

 I'll give you a proof of such stoutness and speed, 

 That old Nimrod himself would have honour'd my breed.' 

 Through Hornby and Smeaton he now bent his way, 

 Resolved to make this a remarkable day ; 

 ^ He then wheel'd to the left, to the banks of the Tees, 



But there he could find neither shelter nor ease ; 

 Now, finding with what sort of hounds he'd to deal, 

 And that his pursuers were true men of steel. 

 He push'd to gain shelter in great Crathorne wood, 

 With hounds at his brush, and all eager for blood. 

 Now the field, all alive, how they smoked him along ! 

 So joyous the music, each note was a song. 

 And all was melody, spirit and' joy. 

 Though strong emulation enlivened each eye. 

 Next, passing by Marton and Ormesby great hall, 

 He seemed to say — ' Little I value you all ;' 

 For many a stout horse was now slackening his speed, 

 And to see them tail oflf was diverting, indeed. 



