358 THE MEYNELL HOUNDS 



oh, what were trampled pastures, and, oh, what was damaged wheat, 

 Or poultry raised and fattened which the foxes used to eat? 

 Oh, what were broken fences, what was stock all gone astray 1 

 Great houses bought our produce then, great stables used our hay. 

 There was stir and animation, the country-side was gay 

 With all the pomp and glitter and i)ride of a hunting day ! 

 Who mangled them and tangled them and rolled them in the mire 

 We killed the goose with golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



The halls are all deserted now where gentry used to be. 



There's no one left but t' doctor, and t' rector, and Hodge, and me , 



There's no one rides about the laud, and I miss the friendly nod 



I got on hunting mornings, though the horse hoofs cut the sod. 



Though many's the time I've grumbled, yet now I should rejoice 



To see a smiling countenance and hear a cheery voice. 



Who lamed the nags, and maimed the men, and rolled them in the 



mire? 

 We killed the goose with golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



There are tons of hay uneaten and lying in the mow. 

 Is the meadow grass worth cutting at the price it fetches now? 

 The towns are full of loafing men who used to earn their bread. 

 All idle since we farmers knocked fox-hunting on the head. 

 The blacksmith's in the workhouse, and the saddler's ruined too : 

 We little thought all this would come of what we meant to do. 

 Who lamed the nags, and maimed the men, and rolled them in the 

 mire, 



The whippers-in are in " the House," the huntsman's breaking stones, 

 The doctor's lost the goodly job of setting sportsmen's bones. 

 While us as stays must pay the rates — there's no one else to pay — 

 It's twice as hard upon the rest now they have gone away. 

 And Parson says there's no one now to help the poor in need. 

 Dal ! All the World looks black at us — the men as done the deed. 

 As lamed the nags, and maimed the men, and rolled them in the 



mire, 

 And killed the goose with golden eggs with thrice-accursed wire. 



The Shires are quite a desert now the Quality has fled : 

 Their homes are still and silent as the dwellings of the dead. 

 There seems a blight upon the land. Accursed be the day 

 That spoilt their sport, that robbed the land, and drove their wealth 

 away, 



