 | Hunting Songs |  |
The Keeper.
I
Rufus Knox, his lordship's keeper, is a formidable chap,So at least think all who listen to his swagger at the tap;
Ain't he up to poachers? ain't he down upon 'em too?
This very night he'd face and fight a dozen of the crew.
111
II
With the Squire who hunts the country he is ever in disgrace,For “Vulpicide” is written in red letters on his face;
His oath that in one cover he a brace of foxes saw,
Is the never-failing prelude that foretokens a blank draw.
III
The mousing owl he spares not, flitting through the twilight dim,The beak it wears, it is, he swears, too hook'd a one for him;
In every woodland songster he suspects a secret foe,
His ear no music toucheth, save the roosting pheasant's crow.
IV
His stoppers and his beaters, for the battue day array'd,Behold him in his glory at the head of the brigade;
That day on which a twelvemonth's toil triumphantly is crown'd,
That day to him the pivot upon which the year turns round.
112
V
There is a spot where birds are shot by fifties as they fly,If envious of that station you must tip him on the sly;
Conspicuous on the slaughter card if foremost you would be,
That place like other places must be purchas'd with a fee.
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