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Tarporley Hunt, 1833.
I
When without verdure the woods in November are,Then to our collars their green is transferr'd;
Racing and chasing the sports of each member are,
Come then to Tarporley booted and spurr'd;
13
Scorning the weather, Sir,
Like the good leather, Sir,
Which we put on:
Quæsitum meritis!
Good fun how rare it is!
I know not where it is,
Save at the Swan.
II
Lo! there's a Maiden whose sweet disposition isBent, like Diana's of old, on the chase;
Joy to that sportsman whose horse, in condition, is
Able and willing to go the best pace;
Racers are sweating now,
Owners are fretting now,
Stable boys betting now,
France! ten to one:
Quæsitum meritis, &c.
III
Lo! where the forest turf covers gentility,Foremost with glory and hindmost with mud;
Now let the President prove his ability,
Umpire of speed, whether cocktail or blood;
Go-by and Adelaide,
Though they were saddled,
Led forth and straddled,
Judge there was none!
Quæsitum meritis, &c.
14
IV
How with due praise shall I sing the Palatinate,Ably with Presidents filling our chair;
The Greys and the Leghs, and the Brookes that have sat in it,
Toasting our bumpers and drinking their share?
Each Squire and each Lord, Sir,
That meets at our board, Sir,
Were I to record, Sir,
I ne'er should have done:
Quæsitum meritis, &c.
V
“Sume superbiam quæsitam meritis,”Shades of Sir Peter and Barry look down,
Long may we good fellows, now a day rarities,
Live to make merry in Tarporley town.
Fox preservation,
Throughout the whole nation,
Affords recreation,
Then drink it, each man:
Quæsitum meritis!
Good fun how rare it is!
I know not where it is,
Save at the Swan.
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