3Ir. "[Bromley-Davenport 



Then my heart shall beat no longer with my passion's foolish 



throbs, 

 I will wed some vulgar woman — she will rear my race of snobs. 



Double-jointed, mutton-fisted, they shall run but shall not ride, 

 Hunting with the York and Nasty or the harriers of Brookside. 



Fool again ! the dream ! the fancy ! but I know my words are 



stuff. 

 For I hold the swell provincial lower than the Melton muff. 



I to hunt with fustian jackets, my remaining years to pass 

 With the refuse of protection — in a land devoid of grass. 



Tied to one perpetual woman, what to me were soil or clime, 

 I who never could endure the same for ten days at a time ? 



I who hold it better to pursue the patriarchal plan 

 Than tamely to submit to a monopoly of man ? 



Not in vain the distance beckons. What 's that skirting the hill 



side ? 

 'Tis the fox ! I '11 bet a hundred ! forward ! forward ! let us 



ride. 



I 'm before them, and they d — n me ; but no matter, go along ! 

 Better fifty yards before them than behind among the throng. 



Ha ! ha ! ha ! was that an over ? What ! old Rambler ! is he 



dead \ 

 What of that } pick up the pieces ; he was mortal ! go ahead. 



103 



