THE PUNCHPUDDLE HUNT 75 



On the musical grey 

 And the collar-marked bay 

 And the job-master's hack that goes out every day, 



Feet home, shoulders up, through the meadows they fly, 

 Under branches low-hung and through gates widely swung 



Till a ragged, black bullfinch looms hairy and high. 

 Right round to the left see the multitude swerving, 



For yonder goes Reynard the bold and the sly — 

 Ah, right in the line is a vision unnerving, 



A grim, four-foot drain, terror-striking — though dry ! 

 So they circle like birds, using horrible words. 



As they search for the bridge which they hope to be nigh ; 

 Save a youth on the roan with a will of its own; 



See him rise to the sky : hear him yelling " Almigh — ! " 

 See him chng to the saddle and land with a grunt — 

 Tis the " Hard-riding Dick " of The Punchpuddle Hunt ! 



Oh, The Punchpuddle Hunt are unflinching, untiring ! 

 Three times round the house at full gallop they sail, 

 Red, panting, perspiring — domestics admiring — 

 Already the leaders are catching the tail. 

 Three times has the fox 

 Had a try for his box. 

 And three times have they headed him off with a pail, 

 And now through the meadows once more he is slinking. 



Since attempts at the pigsty in nowise avail; 

 He's right back for Leadenhall, beaten and sinking; 

 He'll run the embankment — ^he came down by rail. 

 " Tally-ho ! " in the lane; 

 He'll be crossing that drain ! 



