He'd take the threefold bounty, lest a gift he'd seem to scorn:
He'd ask, beyond all other men, the tricks o' hounds and horses,
And a voice to charm a woodland of a soft December morn,
And sons to follow after him, all to the business born.
"And—but here we are at home, Sir. Yes, the old man was a terror
For his fairies and his nonsense, yet the story's someways right;
He'd the trick o' hounds and horses to a marvel—and no error;
And to hear him draw a woodland was a pride and a delight;
And—was it luck entirely, Sir, I killed my fox to-night?"