SIR JOHN KENNEDY, 1814-1841 



Now Reynard being dead it's time for my song, 

 To say a few words of the galloping throng, 

 Who followed this pack so steady and fleet, 

 How beat, some they went well, and how some they 



were beat, 

 John Kennedy mounted upon his Brown mare, 

 Kept well with his hounds, for he always rides fair. 

 Did not cut a dash, but the truth it must out. 

 He always is there, and is seldom thrown out. 

 Of Standen on Broadhead, we'll say but one 



word, 

 'Tis enough that he rode as straight as a bird. 

 And Williams was carried right merrily through, 

 Tho' when near the end he was spurring a few, 

 Neither Carter, or Roberts, were ever seen baulking. 

 We all do our best, so what argufies talking? 

 Now Brownrigg, and Cannon who rode his stout 



black. 

 Through all his fine scamper were close to the pack, 

 George Anson was there too and young Brabazon, 

 Who shov'd well along on his fiery dun. 

 And Johnny the Whipper the choicest of lads. 

 Went the pace, for he mounted the best of his pads 

 But this is no news, for all must allow, 

 He crams some along, God only knows how, 

 Peggy Fane on old Sting-Tail, ne'er before rode so 



well, 

 I could swear on my oath it's no falsehood I tell. 

 Both Ogle and Lawry, tho' thrown out at first, 

 Cut in very soon and saw most of the burst, 

 Chal on the Chestnut, Jack on his Brown Horse, 



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