27© THE OLD BERKS HUNT 



A broken bone, sad to discover, 



Before this rattling run is over. 



The hounds still sticking to their line, 



Now cross the rail for the third time. 



Streaming on for Stanford village, 



All on grass, none under tillage. 



But Reynard, to the right he turns. 



And leaves forbidden ground which burns, 



Whilst now Park Island passing by, 



" Forard, forard ! " still is the cry. 



" Black acre " now is left behind. 



Where a good fox sometimes we find ; 



Now on for Tagg's at Charney Wick 



Old Lavish leads us like a brick, 



And turning to the right once more, — 



The Denchworth plough, oh ! what a bore. 



The bound'ry ditch we have to leap, 



Which lands us in the plough so deep ; 



With some behind who feel so vexed, 



The field has now become select. 



The few that in the run are left. 



Have Little Denchworth on their left. 



We sigh and sob all through the plough. 



With Denchworth brook before us now. 



Some get in and some are over. 



And some another way discover. 



For West Hanney now we rattle, 



Like plucky soldiers when in battle. 



But turning to the left he will 



Take us straight down to Charney Mill ; 



Into the road we jump a ditch. 



Where hounds had run to such a pitch. 



Just now a little check occurr'd 



he did not rise, a stranger rode up to him and said : 

 " I hope, Sir, you're not hurt ? " to which he got the 

 reply, " You blank idiot ; do you think I should be such 

 a as to lie here if I wasn't ? " 



