Who galloped him hard to the meet,
Who thought that a horse was a kind of machine,
And whose hands were as bad as his seat.
That day the hounds had a good run, sir,
They turned a fox out of the gorse;
That cockney, he galloped for miles on the road,
Which is terrible hard on a horse.
The Cavalier loved to go hunting,
He loved to dash over the grass;
In the days of his youth he’d have been at the front,