An' oft te leeak at 'em did stand, As heeame he wistlin' teak his way; Blessin' t' awd deeame wha let him stay, An' sleep i' t' lair, when, late o' t' neeght, His slap-shod shoon had leeam'd his feet. HOWELL WOOD;[214] OR, THE RABY HUNT, IN YORKSHIRE, FEBRUARY, 1803. To the tune of "_Ballynamonaora_." "Let those ride hard, who never rode before, And those who always rode, now ride the more." Whilst passing o'er Barnsdale,[215] I happen'd to spy, A fox stealing on and the hounds in full cry; They are DARLINGTON'S sure, for his voice I well know, Crying forward--hark forward; from Skelbrook[216] below. With my Ballynamonaora, The hounds of old Raby for me. See Binchester leads them, whose speed seldom fails, And now let us see who can tread on their tails; For, like pigeons in flight, the best hunter would blow, Should his master attempt to ride over them now. Chorus. With my, &c. From HOWELL WOOD come--they to STAPLETON[217] go, What confusion I see, in the valley below; My friends in _black collars_,[218] nearly beat out of sight, And BADSWORTH'S old heroes in sorrowful plight. Chorus. With my, &c. 'Tis hard to describe all the frolic and fun, Which, of course, must ensue, in this capital run; But I quote the old proverb, howe'er trite and lame, That--"_The looker on sees most by half of the game_." Chorus. With my, &c. Then first in the burst, see dashing away, Taking all on his stroke, on RALPHO the grey; With _persuaders_ in flank, comes DARLINGTON'S peer,[219] With his chin sticking out, and his cap on one ear. Chorus. With my, &c. Never heeding a tumble, a scratch, or a fall, Laying close in his quarter, see SCOTT of WOODHALL;[220] And mind how he cheers them, with "Hark to the cry!" Whilst on him the peer keeps a _pretty sharp eye_. Chorus. With my, &c. And next him on MORGAN, all rattle and talk, Cramming over the fences, comes wild MARTIN HAWKE,[221] But his neck he must break, surely sooner or late, As he'd rather _ride over_ than _open_ a gate. Chorus. With my, &c. Then there's dashing FRANK BOYNTON, who rides thorough breds, Their carcases nearly as small as their heads: But he rides so d----d hard that it makes my heart ache, For fear his long legs should be left on a stake. Chorus. With my, &c. Behold HARRY MELLISH,[222] as wild as the wind, On LANCASTER mounted, leaving numbers behind; But lately return'd from democrat France, Where forgetting to bet--he's been learning to dance. Chorus. With my, &c.