174 THE OLD BERKS HUNT 



Squire H(ammersl)y next, in a very fair station, 

 A mighty great man, in his own estimation — 

 Too fond of the " Long-tails " ; yet, give him his due. 

 When hounds go the pace, pretty near 'em is Hugh. 



The Manager now in our eye let us scan, 

 Who seems of 'em all to have found out the plan ; 

 First this one then that one as Manager came : 

 The first was a bad one, the next was the same — 

 The horses, the hounds, and the story were lame ; 

 And Morland alone to give has the forte 

 Both great satisfaction and plenty of sport ; 

 And where is, I ask — aye search the world o'er — 

 The Master of hounds that could wish to do more ? 



With elbows well squared and without any noise, 

 But quiet and cool, comes the Lord of Camoys ; 

 Who just for a day has deserted Sir John, 

 To see how the Berkshire affairs are going on. 



Behind him, his voice rising higher and higher. 

 And all in a bustle, comes Brightwell's great squire. 

 " By G-d, sir, what hounds ! they can do the trick ; 

 I wish those cursed Tories like this we could lick : 

 Master Morland must put us now in the front rank, 

 For Brightwell ne'er yet knew the meaning of blank." 



His chesnut nigh gruell'd in keeping his place, 

 But still shov'd along at a cruel great pace ; 

 Li clerical boots, Parson B(eaucham)p we see: 

 To-day with old Buggy perhaps rather too free. 



Now Billy the Brewer comes craning along, 

 Whose nerves, like his beer, are not very strong ; 

 But if there's a race, a hunt meeting or fair, 

 Sure, by some means or other, the Brewer is there. 



