SOME WELL-KNOWN SUPPORTERS. 



239 



His garment of pink no longer is donned, 



As he says that by all hunting ought to be shunned, 



Unless six daj's a week you're provided with carrion. 



And estate unencumbered by jointure and marrying. 



If you don't mean to hunt, but ride for a lark, 



Why not gallop your nag, my good sir, in your park : 



For so jealous a rider might keep within bounds. 



When he could not ride over, for lack of the hounds. 



Then, snarling, comes Gilbert, a gallant, turned fifty ; 



He could ride in his day, but's become somewhat shifty ; 



Still he follows the chase because it's the fashion. 



And with him an excuse for being aye in a passion. 



Not so courteous Brown, who is in a good place, 



And on Jacob Faithful is going the pace. 



Then we've Ma.\.well and Markham, with true spirit burning, 



A Lane, though a long one, not given to turning ; 



With Calcaria's lawyer, whose nerve must be good. 



Hunting twice in a week, with one screw for a stud. 



The Olivers twain, too, we can't but admire. 



Although in the ' Blues,' they ride with much fire ! 



In Badsworth they're bred, where sport must abound. 



As the country is hunted by both Hawke and hound. 



From the regions of smoke we've both blood and bone, 



Beau Atkinson well for the former is known ; 



Of natty appointments so ardent a lover, 



One would swear in a band-box they'd brought him to covert. 



Ned Jowitt, at starting, sets off with a dash. 



Forgetting, in girth, he resembles Lablache ; 



But a drain stops him short, though no wider, in truth, 



Than the brim of the hat he wore in his youth. 



With his knees to his chin, and paunch like an apple. 



See Fenton, the image of Sancho, on Dapple. 



But who's in such haste on reeking-hot steed, sir r 



What ! not know our jovial friend, Billy Read, sir r 



Of the law and the turf a component matter, 



A limb of the former, and a leg of the latter. 



And who goes so listless, of the field keeping wide } 



'Tis the Squire of Fairfield, once of Ainsty the pride ; 



But quite sick of sporting, he fee'd his physician, 



