FullReads

Thence slowly on thro’ Laytonstone,
Past many a Quaker’s box,–
No friends to hunters after deer,
Tho’ followers of a Fox.

And many a score behind–before–
The self-same route inclined,
And, minded all to march one way,
Made one great march of mind.

Gentle and simple, he and she,
And swell, and blood, and prig;
And some had carts, and some a chaise,
According to their gig.

Some long-eared jacks, some knacker’s hacks,
(However odd it sounds),
Let out that day to hunt, instead
Of going to the hounds!

And some had horses of their own,
And some were forced to job it:
And some, while they inclined to Hunt,
Betook themselves to Cob-it.

All sorts of vehicles and vans,
Bad, middling, and the smart;
Here rolled along the gay barouche,
And there a dirty cart!

And lo! a cart that held a squad
Of costermonger line;
With one poor hack, like Pegasus,
That slaved for all the Nine!

Yet marvel not at any load,
That any horse might drag,
When all, that morn, at once were drawn
Together by a stag!

Now when they saw John Huggins go
At such a sober pace;
“Hallo!” cried they; “come, trot away,
You’ll never see the chase!”

But John, as grave as any judge,
Made answer quite as blunt;
“It will be time enough to trot,
When I begin to hunt!”

And so he paced to Woodford Wells,
Where many a horseman met,
And letting go the reins, of course,
Prepared for heavy wet.

And lo! within the crowded door,
Stood Rounding, jovial elf;
Here shall the Muse frame no excuse,
But frame the man himself.

A snow-white head, a merry eye,
A cheek of jolly blush;
A claret tint laid on by health,
With Master Reynard’s brush;

A hearty frame, a courteous bow,
The prince he learned it from;
His age about threescore and ten,
And there you have Old Tom.

In merriest key I trow was he,
So many guests to boast;
So certain congregations meet,
And elevate the host.

“Now welcome lads,” quoth he, “and prads,
You’re all in glorious luck:
Old Robin has a run to-day,
A noted forest buck.

“Fair Mead’s the place, where Bob and Tom
In red already ride;
‘Tis but a step, and on a horse
You soon may go a-stride.”

So off they scampered, man and horse,
As time and temper pressed–
But Huggins, hitching on a tree,
Branched off from all the rest.

Howbeit he tumbled down in time
To join with Tom and Bob,
All in Fair Mead, which held that day
Its own fair mead of mob.

Idlers to wit–no Guardians some,
Of Tattlers in a squeeze;
Ramblers in heavy carts and vans,
Spectators up in trees.

Butchers on backs of butchers’ hacks,
That shambled to and fro!
Bakers intent upon a buck,
Neglectful of the dough!

Change Alley Bears to speculate,
As usual, for a fall;
And green and scarlet runners, such
As never climbed a wall!

‘Twas strange to think what difference
A single creature made;
A single stag had caused a whole
Stagnation in their trade.

Now Huggins from his saddle rose,
And in the stirrups stood:
And lo! a little cart that came
Hard by a little wood.

In shape like half a hearse,–tho’ not
For corpses in the least;
For this contained the deer alive,
And not the dear deceased!

And now began a sudden stir,
And then a sudden shout,
The prison-doors were opened wide,
And Robin bounded out!

His antlered head shone blue and red,
Bedecked with ribbons fine;
Like other bucks that come to ‘list
The hawbucks in the line.