A score were sprawling on the grass, And beavers fell in showers; There was another _Floorer_ there, Beside the Queen of Flowers! Some lost their stirrups, some their whips, Some had no caps to show: But few, like Charles at Charing Cross Rode on in _Statue_ quo. “O dear! O dear!” now might you hear, “I’ve surely broke a bone;” “My head is sore”--with many more Such Speeches from the _Thrown_. Howbeit their wailings never moved The wide Satanic clan, Who grinned, as once the Devil grinned, To see the fall of Man. And hunters good that understood, Their laughter knew no bounds, To see the horses “throwing off” So long before the hounds. For deer must have due course of law, Like men the Courts among; Before those Barristers the dogs Proceed to “giving tongue.” But now Old Robin’s foes were set That fatal taint to find, That always is scent after him, Yet always left behind. And here observe how dog and man A different temper shows: What hound resents that he is sent To follow his own nose? Towler and Jowler--howlers all, No single tongue was mute; The stag had led a hart, and lo! The whole pack followed suit. No spur he lacked; fear stuck a knife And fork in either haunch; And every dog he knew had got An eye-tooth to his paunch! Away, away! he scudded like A ship before the gale; Now flew to _h_ills we know not of, Now, nun-like, took the vale. Another squadron charging now, Went off at furious pitch;-- A perfect Tam O’Shanter mob, Without a single witch. But who was he with flying skirts, A hunter did endorse, And, like a poet, seemed to ride Upon a wingèd horse? A whipper-in? no whipper-in: A huntsman? no such soul: A connoisseur, or amateur? Why, yes--a horse patrol. A member of police, for whom The county found a nag, And, like Actæon in the tale, He found himself in stag! Away they went, then, dog and deer, And hunters all away; The maddest horses never knew _Mad staggers_ such as they! Some gave a shout, some rolled about, And anticked as they rode; And butchers whistled on their curs, And milkmen _Tally-ho’d_! About two score there were, or more, That galloped in the race; The rest, alas! lay on the grass, As once in Chevy Chase! But even those that galloped on Were fewer every minute; The field kept getting more select, Each thicket served to thin it. For some pulled up, and left the hunt, Some fell in miry bogs, And vainly rose and “ran a muck,” To overtake the dogs. And some, in charging hurdle stakes, Were left bereft of sense; What else could be premised of blades That never learned to fence?