Appendix I 



What hounds guided scent, or which led the way, 



Your bard — to their names quite a stranger — can't say ; 



Though their names had he known, he is free to confess, 



His horse could not show him at such a death-pace. 



Villiers, Cholmondeley, and Forester made such sharp play, 



Not omitting Germaine, never seen till to-day : 



Had you judged of these four by the trim of their pace, 



At Bibury you'd thought they'd been riding a race. 



But these hounds with a scent, how they dash and they fling. 



To o'er-ride them is quite the impossible thing ; 



Disdaining to hang in the wood, through he raced. 



And the open for Skeffington gallantly faced ; 



Where headed and foil'd, his first point he forsook, 



And merrily led them a dance o'er the brook. 



Pass'd Galby and Norton, Great Stretton and Small, 



Right onward still sweeping to old Stretton Hall ; 



Where two minutes' check served to show at one ken 



The extent of the havoc 'mongst horses and men. 



Such sighing, such sobbing, such trotting, such walking ; 



Such reeling, such halting, of fences such baulking ; 



Such a smoke in the gaps, such comparing of notes ; 



Such quizzing each other's daub'd breeches and coats : 



Here a man walk'd afoot who his horse had half kill'd. 



There you met with a steed who his rider had spill'd : 



In short, such dilemmas, such scrapes, such distress, 



One fox ne'er occasion'd, the knowing confess. 



But, alas ! the dilemmas had scarcely began, 



On for Wigston and Ayleston he resolute ran, 



Where a few of the stoutest now slacken'd and panted, 



And many were seen irretrievably planted. 



The high road to Leicester the scoundrel then cross'd, 



As Tell-tale ^ and Beaufremont ^ found to their cost ; 



^ Mr. Forester's horse. "^ Mr. Maddock's horse. 



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