THE WARWICKSHIRE HOUNDS. 165 



By necessity turned here, at best pace we strode, Mr. H. Spencer 



To nick in with the pack, half-a-mile down the road. 1866-1876 



Here kind fortune befriends us, we meet them again, " 



And to keep with them now every muscle we strain. 



And for'ard, still for'ard, in capital style, 



Their keenness unchecked, they race mile after mile ; 



Whilst Pug still holds his own, till the sun going down, 



He bends to the right, near to Warmington town. 



And distance unheeding, the pace, too, that kills, 



Once again with rare courage he faces the hills. 



Here I steal a look backwards as Orvis comes by, 



And say *' but eleven bold riders I spy." 



He replies, " a bit more, sir, to this lively tune, 



*' And little the counting we'll need pretty soon." 



And panting and sobbing, near done by this time. 



Once again our good nags up those dreadful hills climb, 



And scarce pausing a moment for breath at the top 



It is for'ard again. Will those hounds never stop ? 



And this fox must his colours have nailed to the mast, 



"No surrender" his motto. A check comes at last, 



And oh ! welcome the respite ; the nags nearly done, 



The sun sunk to rest, and its light all but gone. 



And how gladly at last the pursuit we all yield, 



To Upton House close in the very next field. 



Of the finish I scarcely know what I must say. 



For the fox had earned life, and the hounds earned their 



prey ; 

 Though Pug owed his escape, at the last to the sheep. 

 And its being too dark for a look 'ere a leap ; 

 But whichever you think, we had chased him in vain, 

 And the gallant fox lived to be hunted again. 

 But, oh ! think after this what a swell he will be. 

 How sought after for ball and for afternoon tea, 

 How he'll stroke his sharp snout, and curl gaily his brush, 

 And protest that for Orvis he cares not a rush. 

 While the cubs gaze with awe, and the vixens admire, 

 The bold rover who led us half over our shire. 

 'Twixt the points I have mentioned, his courage and wiles 

 Had forced us to follow nigh twenty-five miles. 

 And the size of the fences, deep ground, and the pace, 

 Had scattered our field o'er near half of that space ; 

 For of all those bold horsemen, so proud and elate 

 At the find, at the finish were left only eight. 

 And the man who was nearest the hounds at the last. 

 Was George Smith, of Ailston, his roan unsurpassed. 

 Next to him, bravely carried the whole good run through, 

 Was Lupton on " Burton," who's scarce fifteen two, 

 Though his stature be small, when it comes to a pinch. 

 He proves his heart large, and how good is each inch. 

 Sir Charles Mordaunt next ; in a wonderful way 

 He was borne to the end on that five-year-old grey ; 



