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No means he had, by timely check,
The gallop to remit,
For firm and fast, between his teeth,
The biter held the bit.

Trees raced along, all Essex fled
Beneath him as he sate,–
He never saw a county go
At such a county rate!

“Hold hard! hold hard! you’ll lame the dogs,”
Quoth Huggins, “So I do,–
I’ve got the saddle well in hand,
And hold as hard as you!”

Good Lord! to see him ride along,
And throw his arms about,
As if with stitches in the side,
That he was drawing out!

And now he bounded up and down,
Now like a jelly shook:
Till bumped and galled–yet not where Gall
For bumps did ever look!

And rowing with his legs the while,
As tars are apt to ride,
With every kick he gave a prick,
Deep in the horse’s side!

But soon the horse was well avenged
For cruel smart of spurs,
For, riding through a moor, he pitched
His master in a furze!

Where sharper set than hunger is
He squatted all forlorn;
And like a bird was singing out
While sitting on a thorn!

Right glad was he, as well might be,
Such cushion to resign:
“Possession is nine points,” but his
Seemed more than ninety-nine.

Yet worse than all the prickly points
That entered in his skin,
His nag was running off the while
The thorns were running in!

Now had a Papist seen his sport,
Thus laid upon the shelf,
Altho’ no horse he had to cross,
He might have crossed himself.

Yet surely still the wind is ill
That none can say is fair;
A jolly wight there was, that rode
Upon a sorry mare!

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,
Resolved, by changing horses here,
To hunt another stage!

Tho’ felony, yet who would let
Another’s horse alone,
Whose neck is placed in jeopardy
By riding on his own?

And yet the conduct of the man
Seemed honest-like and fair;
For he seemed willing, horse and all,
To go before the mare!

So up on Huggins’ horse he got,
And swiftly rode away,
While Hugging 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!

Alas! with one that rode so well
In vain it was to strive;
A dab was he, as dabs should be–
All leaping and alive!

And here of Nature’s kindly care
Behold a curious proof,
As nags are meant to leap, she puts
A frog in every hoof!

Whereas the mare, altho’ her share
She had of hoof and frog,
On coming to a gate stopped short
As stiff as any log;

Whilst Huggins in the stirrup stood
With neck like neck of crane,
As sings the Scottish song–“to see
The gate his hart had gane.”

And lo! the dim and distant hunt
Diminished in a trice:
The steeds, like Cinderella’s team,
Seemed dwindling into mice;

And, far remote, each scarlet coat
Soon flitted like a spark,–
Tho’ still the forest murmured back
An echo of the bark!

But sad at soul John Huggins turned:
No comfort could he find;
While 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.