The hunters now are tiring, Or lagging far behind, But yet the fox is running As merrily as the wind. The staunchest hounds are wearied With the fruitless chase, The angry lord and huntsman Alone maintain the race. When at the sinking of the day They gain'd a river's side, Without a moment's stop or stay The fox takes to the tide. Here stop the lord and huntsman, Their courage is no more, They dare not trust their horses Amidst the waves of Yore. Both hound, and horse, and hunters, Are fairly tired and done, For since the game was started, Full three score miles they'd run. While light as cork on water The fox was floating on, You could not tell by seeing him, A furlong he had run. He swam into the middle, Then turned him round about, And by the hunters on the bank Was heard to laugh and shout. "Ho! ho! ye gallant hunters! When must I come again? For never shall ye want a fox, To chase along the plain. "And when your need is greatest, But call upon my name, And I will come--and you shall have The best of sport and game." FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 209: Author of the "Vale of Mowbray," &c: to whom I am indebted for the "Collingham Ghost," and "The Widow's Lament."] MISS BAILEY'S GHOST.[210] A captain bold in Halifax, who dwelt in country quarters Seduced a maid who hang'd herself one morning in her garters; His wicked conscience smited him, he lost his stomach daily, He took to drinking ratafia, and thought upon miss Bailey. Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey. One night, betimes, he went to rest, for he had caught a fever, Says he, "I am a handsome man, but I'm a gay deceiver." His candle just at twelve o'clock began to burn quite palely, A ghost stepp'd up to his bed-side and said, "Behold miss Bailey!" Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey! "Avaunt, miss Bailey," then he cried, "your face looks white and mealy." "Dear captain Smith," the ghost replied, "you've used me ungenteely; The crowner's 'quest goes hard with me, because I've acted frailly, And Parson Biggs won't bury me, though I am dead miss Bailey." Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey! "Dear corpse," said he, "since you and I, accounts must once for all close, I've got a one pound note in my regimental small clothes; 'Twill bribe the sexton for your grave."--The ghost then vanish'd gaily, Crying, "Bless you, wicked captain Smith, remember poor miss Bailey." Oh miss Bailey! unfortunate miss Bailey. FOOTNOTE: [Footnote 210: This song first appeared, in 1805, in Colman's "Love laughs at Locksmiths." See a Latin version of this song by the Rev. G. H. Glasse, in Gent. Mag. for Aug. 1805.] THE TWO YORKSHIRE LOVERS.[211] To the Tune of "_Willy_."