The hunt trit-trotted to the meeting, Tom Dansey touching cap to greeting, Slow-lifting crop-thong to the rim, No hunter there got more from him Except some brightening of the eye. He halted at the Cock and Pye, The hounds drew round him on the green, Arrogant, Daffodil and Queen, Closest, but all in little space. Some lolled their tongues, some made grimace, Yawning, or tilting nose in quest, All stood and looked about with zest, They were uneasy as they waited. Their sires and dams had been well-mated, They were a lovely pack for looks; Their forelegs drumsticked without crooks, Straight, without overtread or bend, Muscled to gallop to the end, With neat feet round as any cat's. Great chested, muscled in the slats, Bright, clean, short-coated, broad in shoulder, With stag-like eyes that seemed to smoulder. The heads well-cocked, the clean necks strong; Brows broad, ears close, the muzzles long; And all like racers in the thighs; Their noses exquisitely wise, Their minds being memories of smells; Their voices like a ring of bells; Their sterns all spirit, cock and feather; Their colours like the English weather, Magpie and hare, and badger-pye, Like minglings in a double dye, Some smutty-nosed, some tan, none bald; Their manners were to come when called, Their flesh was sinew knit to bone, Their courage like a banner blown. Their joy, to push him out of cover, And hunt him till they rolled him over. They were as game as Robert Dover. THE WHIP Tom Dansey was a famous whip Trained as a child in horsemanship. Entered, as soon as he was able, As boy at Caunter's racing stable; There, like the other boys, he slept In stall beside the horse he kept, Snug in the straw; and Caunter's stick Brought morning to him all too quick. He learned the high quick gingery ways Of thoroughbreds; his stable days Made him a rider, groom and vet. He promised to be too thickset For jockeying, so left it soon. Now he was whip and rode Maroon. [Illustration: His chief delight Was hunting fox from noon to night.]