The Honerable Lazzles, who from forrin parts be cum,
An a chip of owd Lord Delamere, the Honerable Tum;
Squoir Fox an Booth and Worthington, Squoir Massey an Squoir Harne,
And many more big sportsmen, but their names I didna larn.
I seed that greet commander in the saddle, Captain Whoite,
An the pack as thrung'd about him was indeed a gradely soight;
The dogs look'd foine as Satin, an himsel look'd hard as nails,
An' he giv the swells a caution not to roid upo their tails.
Says he, "Yung men o' Manchester an Liverpoo cum near,
Oiv just a word, a warning word, to whisper in your ear;
When, starting from the cuvver soide, ye see bowd Reynard burst,
We canna 'ave no 'untin, if the gemmen go it first."
Tom Rance has got a single oie worth many another's two,
He held his cap abuv his yed to show he'd had a view;
Tom's voice was loik th' owd raven's when he shriek'd out "Tallyho!"
For when the fox had seen Tom's feace he thought it time to go.
Eh moy! a pratty jingle then went ringing through the skoy,
First Victory, then Villager began the merry croy;
Then every maith was open, from the owd 'un to the pup,
An' aw the pack together took the swelling chorus up.
Eh moy! a pratty scouver then was kick'd up in the vale,
They skimm'd across the running brook, they topp'd the post an' rail,
They didna stop for razzur cop, but play'd at touch and go,
An' them as miss'd a footin there, lay doubled up below.
I seed the 'ounds a crossing Farmer Flareup's boundary loin,
Whose daughter plays the peany and drinks whoit sherry woin:
Gowd rings upon her fingers, and silk stockings on her feet;
Says I, "It won't do him no harm to roid across his wheat."
So, toightly houdin on by th' yed, I hits th' owd mare a whop,
Hoo plumps into the middle o' the wheatfield neck and crop;
An when hoo floinder'd out on it I catch'd another spin,
An, missis, that's the cagion o' the blood upo my chin.
I never oss'd another lep, but kept the lane, and then
In twenty minutes' toime about they turn'd toart me again;
The fox was foinly daggled, and the tits aw out o' breath,
When they kilt him in the open, an owd Dobbin seed the death.
Loik dangling of a babby, then the huntsman hove him up,
The dugs a-baying round him, whoil the gemman croid, "Whoo-up:"
Then clane and quick, as doosome cauves lick fleetings from the pail,
They worried every inch on 'im except his yed and tail.