What's up wi' them rich gentlefolk an lords as wasna there?
There was noither Marquis Chumley, nor the Viscount Combermere;
Noither Legh, nor France o' Bostock, nor the Squoir o' Peckforton,
How cums it they can stop awhoam, such sport a goin on?
Now, missus, sin the markets be a doin moderate well,
Oiv welly made my mind up just to buy a nag mysel;
For to keep a farmer's spirits up gen things be gettin low,
Theer's nothin loik fox-hunting and a rattling "Tallyho!"
I think the reader will agree with me in saying that this characteristic song has much of the old expressive ballad simplicity and vigour about it. The county of Cheshire is rich in local song; and R. E. E. Warburton, Esq., mentioned in these verses as "the Squoir of Arley Haw"—
His pockets full o' rigmarole, a rhoimin' on 'em aw—
is the author of several fine hunting songs, in the dialect of that county; he is also the editor of a valuable and interesting volume of "Cheshire Songs."
CHAPTER IV.
In sunshine and in shade, in wet and fair,
Drooping or blithe of heart, as might befall: