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9
Old Oulton Lowe.
I
Bad luck to the Country! the clock had struck two,We had found ne'er a Fox in the gorses we drew;
When each heart felt a thrill at the sound, “Tally-Ho!”
Once more a view hollo from old Oulton Lowe!
II
Away like a whirlwind toward Calveley Hall,For the first thirty minutes Pug laugh'd at us all;
Our nags cur'd of kicking, ourselves of conceit,
Ere the laugh was with us, we were most of us beat.
III
The Willington mare, when she started so fast,Ah! we little thought then that the race was her last;
Accurst be the stake that was stain'd with her blood;
But why cry for spilt milk?—may the next be as good!
IV
'Twas a sight for us all, worth a million, I swear,To see the Black Squire how he rode the black mare;
10
First, foremost, and fleetest from old Oulton Lowe!
V
How Delamere went, it were useless to tell,To say he was out, is to say he went well;
A rider so skilful ne'er buckled on spur
To rule a rash horse, or to make a screw stir.
VI
The odds are in fighting that Britain beats France;In the chase, as in war, we must all take our chance.
Little Ireland kept up, like his namesake the nation,
By dint of “coercion” and great “agitation.”
VII
Now Victor and Bedford were seen in the van,Cheer'd on by the Maiden who rides like a man,
He screech'd with delight as he wip'd his hot brow,
“Their bristles are up! Sir! they're hard at him now.”
VIII
In the pride of his heart, then the Manager cried,“Come along, little Rowley boy, why don't you ride?”
11
As he gave her the go-by on bonny brown Bess.
IX
The Baron from Hanover hollow'd “whoo-hoop,”While he thought on the Lion that eat him half up;
Well pleas'd to have balk'd the wild beast of his dinner,
He was up in his stirrups, and rode like a winner.
X
Oh! where 'mid the many found wanting in speed,Oh! where and oh! where was the Wistaston steed?
Dead beat! still his rider so lick'd him and prick'd him,
He thought (well he might) 'twas the Devil that kick'd him.
XI
The Cestrian chestnut show'd symptoms of blood,For it flow'd from his nose ere he came to the wood.
Where now is Dollgosh? Where the racer from Da'enham?
Such fast ones as these! what mishap has o'er-ta'en 'em?
12
XII
Two gentlemen met, both unhors'd, in a lane,(Fox-hunting on foot is but labour in vain,)
“Have you seen a brown horse?” “No, indeed, Sir; but pray,
In the course of your ramble have you seen a grey?”
XIII
As a London coal-heaver might pick up a peer,Whom he found in the street, with his head rather queer,
So Dobbin was loos'd from his work at the plough,
To assist a proud hunter, stuck fast in a slough.
XIV
I advocate “movement” when shown in a horse,But I love in my heart a “conservative” gorse;
Long life to Sir Philip! we'll drink ere we go,
Old times! and old Cheshire! and old Oulton Lowe!
1833.
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