74 MELTON AND HOMESPUN 



in 



See the Punchpuddle Hunt on the terrace assembling, 



All swelling and pompous and ripe for the fray. 

 How the horses are jostling and wincing and trembling 



As they push to the front of the motley mtlee. 

 See the head carried high, 

 See the crop-hand on thigh, 



For the local photographer's busy to-day. 

 It is done : they are off to the Ilkestein plantations 



There s a fox, goes the song, in the spinney, they 



say ; 

 " Eleu, in ! " and the whips hurry down to their stations ; 



" Tally-ho ! " from the laurels the fox is away ! 

 View-halloes are pealing; yes, there he goes stealing, 



His pads full of sawdust, his brush full of hay. 

 O'er the tennis-lawn sailing, he slips through the paling, 



And a strong scent of aniseed clings to the clay. 

 With the dog-pack behind and a bagman in front, 

 See the charge down the drive of The Punchpuddle Hunt ! 



IV 



See, The Punchpuddle Hunt on the gravel are striding 



Away to the lodge-gate as straight as a die. 

 The huntsman is riding : the field-master's chiding : 

 And behind them, amongst them, the hounds in full cry. 

 At the lodge one cries, " Whoa ! " 

 And again, " Tally-ho ! 



There's the fox ringing back to his crate in the sty ! " 

 Through a gate on the right throng the gallant first flight, 

 And the wily one crossing the orchard they spy. 



