A sorry mare, that surely came
Of pagan blood and bone;
For down upon her knees she went,
To many a stock and stone!
Now seeing Huggins' nag adrift,
This farmer, shrewd and sage,
Resolv'd by changing horses here,
To hunt another stage!
So up on Huggins' horse he got,
And swiftly rode away,
While Huggins mounted on the mare
Done brown upon a bay!
And off they set, in double chase,
For such was fortune's whim,
The Farmer rode to hunt the stag,
And Huggins hunted him.
* * * * *
And, far remote, each scarlet coat
Soon flitted like a spark,--
Tho' still the forest murmur'd back
An echo of the bark.
But sad at soul John Huggins turn'd:
No comfort he could find.
Whilst thus the "Hunting Chorus" sped
To stay five bars behind.
For tho' by dint of spur he got
A leap in spite of fate--
Howbeit there was no toll at all,
They could not clear the gate.
And, like Fitzjames, he cursed the hunt,
And sorely cursed the day,
And mus'd a new Gray's elegy
On his departed gray.
Huggins now betook him to the Wells--the Hunt was o'er--and many a joke
is told--
How Huggins stood when he was rubb'd
By help and ostler kind,
And when they cleaned the clay before,
How "worse remain'd behind."
And one, how he had found a horse
Adrift--a goodly gray!
And kindly rode the nag, for fear
The nag should go astray.
Huggins claims the horse, and offers "a bottle and a pound" for his
recovery:
The wine was drunk,--the money paid,
Tho' not without remorse.
To pay another man so much,
For riding on his horse.