The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT. |
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 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
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ARSCOTT OF TETCOTT.
On the ninth of November, in the year fifty-two,
Three jolly foxhunters, all sons of true blue,
They rode from Pencarrow, not fearing a wet coat,
To take their diversion with Arscott of Tetcott.
Three jolly foxhunters, all sons of true blue,
They rode from Pencarrow, not fearing a wet coat,
To take their diversion with Arscott of Tetcott.
He went to his kennel and took them within:
“On Monday,” said Arscott, “our joys shall begin.
Both horses and hounds, how they pant to be gone!
How they'll follow afoot, not forgetting Black John!”
“On Monday,” said Arscott, “our joys shall begin.
Both horses and hounds, how they pant to be gone!
How they'll follow afoot, not forgetting Black John!”
When Monday was come, right early at morn
John Arscott arose, and he took down his horn;
He gave it a flourish so loud, in the hall,
Each heard the glad summons and came at the call.
John Arscott arose, and he took down his horn;
He gave it a flourish so loud, in the hall,
Each heard the glad summons and came at the call.
They heard it with pleasure, but Webb
was first dressed,
Resolving to give a cold pig to the rest;
Bold Bob and The Briton,
they hastened down stairs—
It was generally suppos'd they neglected their prayers.
Resolving to give a cold pig to the rest;
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they hastened down stairs—
It was generally suppos'd they neglected their prayers.
At breakfast they scrambled for butter and toast,
But Webb was impatient that time should be lost;
So old Cheyney was ordered to bring to the door
Both horses and hounds, and away to the moor.
But Webb was impatient that time should be lost;
So old Cheyney was ordered to bring to the door
Both horses and hounds, and away to the moor.
On Monday, says Arscott, as he mounted his nag,
“I look to old Black Cap, for he'll hit the drag!”
The drag it was hit, but they said it was old,
For a drag in the morning could not be so cold.
“I look to old Black Cap, for he'll hit the drag!”
The drag it was hit, but they said it was old,
For a drag in the morning could not be so cold.
They prick'd it along to Becket and Thorn,
And there the old dogs they set out, I'll be sworn;
'Twas Ringwood and Rally, with capital scent,
Bold Princess and Madcap—good God! how they went!
And there the old dogs they set out, I'll be sworn;
'Twas Ringwood and Rally, with capital scent,
Bold Princess and Madcap—good God! how they went!
“How far did they make it? How far went they on?
How far did they make it?” said Simon the Son;
“O'er the moors,” said Joe Goodman, “hark to Bacchus, the word!”
“Hark to Vulcan,” cried Arscott, “that's it, by the Lord!”
How far did they make it?” said Simon the Son;
“O'er the moors,” said Joe Goodman, “hark to Bacchus, the word!”
“Hark to Vulcan,” cried Arscott, “that's it, by the Lord!”
“Hark to Princess!” says Arscott; “there's a fresh Tally-ho!”
The dogs they soon caught it, and how they did go!
'Twas Princess and Madcap, and Ringwood and Rally,
They charmed every hill and they echoed each valley.
The dogs they soon caught it, and how they did go!
'Twas Princess and Madcap, and Ringwood and Rally,
They charmed every hill and they echoed each valley.
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From Becket, through Thorn, they went on their way,
To Swannacott Wood, without break or delay;
And when they came there, how they sounded again!
“What music it is!” cried the glad Whitstone Men.
To Swannacott Wood, without break or delay;
And when they came there, how they sounded again!
“What music it is!” cried the glad Whitstone Men.
In haste came up Arscott—“Oh, where are they gone?”
“They are off to the cliffs,” then said Simon the Son;
Through Wike, and through Poundstock, St. Genys, they went,
And when Reynard came there, he gave up by consent.
“They are off to the cliffs,” then said Simon the Son;
Through Wike, and through Poundstock, St. Genys, they went,
And when Reynard came there, he gave up by consent.
So when Reynard was dead, we broke up the field,
With joy in our hearts that we made him to yield;
And when he came home he toasted the health
Of a man who ne'er varied for places or wealth!
With joy in our hearts that we made him to yield;
And when he came home he toasted the health
Of a man who ne'er varied for places or wealth!
When supper was ended we spent all the night
In gay flowing bumpers and social delight;
With mirth and good humour did cheerfully sing,
A health to John Arscott! and God save the King!
In gay flowing bumpers and social delight;
With mirth and good humour did cheerfully sing,
A health to John Arscott! and God save the King!
1852.
This is the venerable name of an ancestor of the present Sir Wm. Molesworth, and of the last of the Western Squires who kept open house and open hand. Many a legend and record of his times and deeds still floats unembodied around the oaks of old Tetcott on the Tamar side.
The last of the Jesters. He lived with the hounds, and ran with the hounds, and rare was the run when Jack was not in at the death. His office it was by many a practical joke to amuse Mr. Arscott's guests; among them swallowing living mice and sparrow-mumbling had frequent place. “There they go,” shouted John when the fox was found and the dogs went off in full cry—“there they go, like our madam at home!”
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