SIR JOHN KENNEDY, 1814-1841 



Still, this was not the worst, for her frame was so 



shook. 

 She could not strike a trot by hook or by crook. 

 One Covey, when riding slap dash at a gate. 

 That was open and iron, also met a sad fate. 

 For hanging quite loosely, it swung on the hinge 

 And thus caught by the leg, his nag got a twinge. 

 And Standen as onward he powdered away, 

 GrappFd fast by a bough, his hat went astray, 

 Not stopping to catch it, he rode home without, 

 A Comforter tied his cold temples about, 

 And the flap hanging down when seen from afar, 

 He looked, by my soul, as a German Hussar, 

 Little Vaughan on the Grey, rode forward enough. 

 But being too fat at last wanted the Puff, 

 That wags cannot go when out of condition. 

 Is as sure as that sinners must go to perdition. 

 And Harford, though mounted far better than 



most. 

 That he went this run well, at least does not boast, 

 Many others also were most thoroughly dish'd 

 Who cannot say they went as straight as they 



wished, 

 The Sport being over we all trotted home, 

 When to meet good Squire Brownrigg so lucky 



were some. 

 For he led us away to his fine friendly hall. 

 Just recently nicknamed the Hole in the Wall, 

 And there we all drank of good Whiskey and 



Brandy, 

 And most happy were we to find it so handy, 



L 145 



