The Parson sadly fell away,
   And in the furze did lie;
The words we heard that Parson say
   Made all the horses shy! 
The Sailor he was seen no more
   Upon that stormy bay;
But still we chased the old gray fox,
      The same old fox,
      The game old fox;
Still we chased the old gray fox
   Through all the winter day. 
         So here’s to the master,
         And here’s to the man!
            &c. &c. &c.

And when we found him gone to ground,
   They sent for spade and man;
But Squire said ’Shame!  The beast was game! 
   A gamer never ran! 
His wind and pace have gained the race,
   His life is fairly won. 
But may we meet the old gray fox,
      The same old fox,
      The game old fox;
May we meet the old gray fox
   Before the year is done. 
         So here’s to the master,
         And here’s to the man! 
      And here’s to twenty couple
      Of the white and black and tan! 
      Here’s a find without await! 
      Here’s a hedge without a gate! 
      Here’s the man who follows straight,
         Where the old fox ran.

’WARE HOLES

[’’Ware Holes!’ is the expression used in the hunting-field to warn those behind against rabbit-burrows or other suck dangers.]

A sportin’ death!  My word it was! 
   An’ taken in a sportin’ way. 
Mind you, I wasn’t there to see;
   I only tell you what they say.

They found that day at Shillinglee,
   An’ ran ’im down to Chillinghurst;
The fox was goin’ straight an’ free
   For ninety minutes at a burst.

They ’ad a check at Ebernoe
   An’ made a cast across the Down,
Until they got a view ’ullo
   An’ chased ’im up to Kirdford town.

From Kirdford ’e run Bramber way,
   An’ took ’em over ’alf the Weald. 
If you ’ave tried the Sussex clay,
   You’ll guess it weeded out the field.

Until at last I don’t suppose
   As ’arf a dozen, at the most,
Came safe to where the grassland goes
   Switchbackin’ southwards to the coast.

Young Captain ’Eadley, ’e was there,
   And Jim the whip an’ Percy Day;
The Purcells an’ Sir Charles Adair,
   An’ this ’ere gent from London way.

For ’e ‘ad gone amazin’ fine,
   Two ’undred pounds between ’is knees;
Eight stone he was, an’ rode at nine,
   As light an’ limber as you please.

’E was a stranger to the ’Unt,
   There weren’t a person as ’e knew there;
But ’e could ride, that London gent —
   ’E sat ’is mare as if ’e grew there.

They seed the ’ounds upon the scent,
   But found a fence across their track,
And ’ad to fly it; else it meant
   A turnin’ and a ‘arkin’ back.

’E was the foremost at the fence,
   And as ’is mare just cleared the rail
He turned to them that rode be’ind,
   For three was at ’is very tail.