 | Hunting Songs |  |
We are all of us Tailors in Turn.
I
I will sing you a song of a fox-hunting bout,They shall tell their own tale who to-day were thrown out;
For the fastest as well as the slowest of men,
Snobs or top-sawyers, alike now and then,
We are all of us tailors in turn.
II
Says one, “From the cover I ne'er got away,Old Quidnunc sat quoting The Times on his Grey,
How Lord Derby was wrong, and Lord Aberdeen right,
And the hounds, ere he finish'd were clean out of sight.”
We are all of us tailors in turn.
131
III
Says one, “When we started o'er fallow and grass,I was close at the tail of the hounds, but, alas!
We came down to a drain in that black-bottom'd fen,
O had I but been on my brook-jumper, then!”—
We are all of us tailors in turn.
IV
“Dismounting,” says one, “at a gate that was fast,The crowd, pushing through, knock'd me down as it pass'd;
My horse seized the moment to take his own fling,
Who'll again do, out hunting, a good-natured thing!”
We are all of us tailors in turn.
V
“Down the lane went I merrily sailing along,Till I found,” says another, “my course was all wrong;
I thought that his line toward the breeding-earth lay,
But he went, I've heard since, just the opposite way.”
We are all of us tailors in turn.
132
VI
From the wine-cup o'er night some were sorry and sick,Some skirted, some cran'd, and some rode for a nick;
Like whales, in the water, some flounder'd about,
Thrown off and thrown in, they were also thrown out.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
VII
“You will find in the field a whole ton of lost shoes.”—A credulous blacksmith, believing the news,
Thought his fortune were made if he walk'd o'er the ground;—
He lost a day's work, but he ne'er a shoe found!
We are all of us tailors in turn.
VIII
What deeds would one hero have done on his Grey,Who was nowhere at all on his Chestnut to-day!
All join in the laugh when a braggart is beat,
And that jest is lov'd best which is aim'd at conceit.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
133
IX
Good fellows there are, unpretending and slow,Who can ne'er be thrown out, for they ne'er mean to go;
But, when the run's over, these oftentimes tell
The story far better than they who went well.
We are all of us tailors in turn.
X
How trifling a cause will oft lose us a run!From the find to the finish how few see the fun!
A mischance, it is call'd, when we come to a halt;
I ne'er heard of one who confess'd it a fault,
Yet we're all of us tailors in turn.
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