'Twas Craythorn first swift reynard made, To Limton then did fly; Full speed pursu'd each hearty blade, And join'd in jovial cry, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. To Worsal next he took his flight, Escape us he would fain; To Picton next with all his might, To Craythorn back again, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. To Weary Bank then takes his course, Thro' Fanny Bell's gill flies; In Seymour Car strains all his force, His utmost vigour tries, With the huntsman Tally oh, &c. To Tanton, Nunthorp, next he flies, O'er Langbrough Rig goes he; He scours like light'ning o'er the meads, More swift fox could not be, Nor with a huntsman better match'd, &c. To Newton, then to Roseberry, To Hutton Lockerass gill; To Lownsdale, o'er Court Moor go we, From thence to Kildale Mill, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. By this our zeal was not subdu'd, All crosses were in vain; To Kildale reynard we pursu'd, To Lownsdale back again, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. By Percy Cross, and Sleddale too, And Pilly Rig full fast, As fox could run to Skylderskew, And Lockwood Beck he past, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. By Freebrough Hill he takes his way, By Danby Lodge also; With ardour we pursue our prey, As swift as hounds could go, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. By Coal Pits and o'er Stonegate Moor, To Scayling reynard ran; Was such a fox e'er seen before? His equal show who can! When a hunting we do go, &c. To Barnby now by Ugthorpe Mill, And Mickleby likewise; To Ellerby, to Hinderwell, Still stubborn reynard flies, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. The huntsman now with other three,[187] And reynard you'll suppose; Ten couple of hounds of high degree, One field now did inclose, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. But now our chace draws near an end, No longer we'll intrude; For on the cliff, rejoice, my friend, Swift reynard there we view'd, With the huntsman Tally ho, &c. Sure such a chace must wonder raise, And had I time to sing, The huntsman's deeds who merits praise, Would make the vallies ring, When a hunting we do go, &c. Come, sportsmen, all your glasses fill, And let the toast go round; May each foxhunter flourish still In health and strength abound, When a hunting we do go, &c. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 186: From a broadside in the Roxburgh collection.] [Footnote 187: Thomas Cole, huntsman; the Rev. George Davison, rector of Cockfield, co. Durham; Christopher Rowntree, junr; and William Stockdale.] AN HONEST YORKSHIRE-MAN.