This place the pass-time us of foot-ball yields:
The common hunt here makes another show,
As he to hunt an hare is wont to go;
But though no woods are here or hares so fleet.
Yet men do often foxes catch and meet;
Into a hole here one by chance doth fall,
At which the watermen began to bawl,
What, will you rob our cellar of its drink?
When he, alas! poor man, no harm did think.
Here men well mounted do on horses ride