And some, in charging hurdle stakes,
  Were left bereft of sense—­
What else could be premised of blades
  That never learned to fence?

But Roundings, Tom and Bob, no gate,
  Nor hedge, nor ditch, could stay;
O’er all they went, and did the work
  Of leap years in a day.

And by their side see Huggins ride,
  As fast as he could speed;
For, like Mazeppa, he was quite
  At mercy of his steed.

No means he had, by timely check,
  The gallop to remit,
For firm and fast, between his teeth,
  The biter held the bit.

Trees raced along, all Essex fled
  Beneath him as he sate,—­
He never saw a county go
  At such a county rate!

“Hold hard! hold hard! you’ll lame the dogs,”
  Quoth Huggins, “So I do,—­
I’ve got the saddle well in hand,
  And hold as hard as you!”

Good Lord! to see him ride along,
  And throw his arms about,
As if with stitches in the side,
  That he was drawing out!

And now he bounded up and down,
  Now like a jelly shook: 
Till bumped and galled—­yet not where Gall
  For bumps did ever look!

And rowing with his legs the while,
  As tars are apt to ride,
With every kick he gave a prick,
  Deep in the horse’s side!

But soon the horse was well avenged
  For cruel smart of spurs,
For, riding through a moor, he pitched
  His master in a furze!

Where sharper set than hunger is
  He squatted all forlorn;
And like a bird was singing out
  While sitting on a thorn!

Right glad was he, as well might be,
  Such cushion to resign: 
“Possession is nine points,” but his
  Seemed more than ninety-nine.

Yet worse than all the prickly points
  That entered in his skin,
His nag was running off the while
  The thorns were running in!

Now had a Papist seen his sport,
  Thus laid upon the shelf,
Altho’ no horse he had to cross,
  He might have crossed himself.

Yet surely still the wind is ill
  That none can say is fair;
A jolly wight there was, that rode
  Upon a sorry mare!

A sorry mare, that surely came
  Of pagan blood and bone;
For down upon her knees she went
  To many a stock and stone!

Now seeing Huggins’ nag adrift,
  This farmer, shrewd and sage,
Resolved, by changing horses here,
  To hunt another stage!

Tho’ felony, yet who would let
  Another’s horse alone,
Whose neck is placed in jeopardy
  By riding on his own?

And yet the conduct of the man
  Seemed honest-like and fair;
For he seemed willing, horse and all,
  To go before the mare!

So up on Huggins’ horse he got,
  And swiftly rode away,
While Hugging mounted on the mare,
  Done brown upon a bay!

And off they set, in double chase,
  For such was fortune’s whim,
The farmer rode to hunt the stag,
  And Huggins hunted him!