They’re drawin’ the black ’anger, just aside the Squire’s grounds.  ’Ark and listen!  ‘Ark and listen!  There’s the yappin’ of the ’ounds:  There’s Fanny and Beltinker, and I ’ear old Boxer call; You see I wasn’t boastin’ when I said I knew ’em all.

Let me sit an’ ’old the bedrail!  Now I see ’em as they pass: 
There’s Squire upon the Midland mare, a good ’un on the grass;
But this is closish country, and you wants a clever ’orse
When ‘alf the time you’re in the woods an’ ’alf among the gorse.

‘Ark to Jack a’ollering—­a-bleatin’ like a lamb. 
You wouldn’t think it now, perhaps, to see the thing I am;
But there was a time the ladies used to linger at the meet
Just to ‘ear me callin’ in the woods:  my callin’ was so sweet.

I see the crossroads corner, with the field awaitin’ there,
There’s Purcell on ’is piebald ‘orse, an’ Doctor on the mare,
And the Master on ’is iron grey; she isn’t much to look,
But I seed ’er do clean twenty foot across the ’eathly brook.

There’s Captain Kane an’ McIntyre an’ ’alf a dozen more,
And two or three are ‘untin’ whom I never seed afore;
Likely-lookin’ chaps they be, well groomed and ’orsed and dressed —
I wish they could ’a seen the pack when it was at its best.

It’s a check, and they are drawin’ down the coppice for a scent,
You can see as they’ve been runnin’, for the ’orses they are spent;
I’ll lay the fox will break this way, downwind as sure as fate,
An’ if he does you’ll see the field come poundin’ through our gate.

But, Maggie, what’s that slinkin’ beside the cover?—­See! 
Now it’s in the clover field, and goin’ fast an’ free,
It’s ’im, and they don’t see ’im.  It’s ’im!  ’Alloo!  ’Alloo! 
My broken wind won’t run to it—­I’ll leave the job to you.

There now I ’ear the music, and I know they’re on his track;
Oh, watch ’em, Maggie, watch ’em!  Ain’t they just a lovely pack! 
I’ve nursed ’em through distemper, an’ I’ve trained an’ broke ’em in,
An’ my ’eart it just goes out to them as if they was my kin.

Well, all things ‘as an endin’, as I’ve ’eard the parson say,
The ‘orse is cast, an’ the ‘ound is past, an’ the ’unter ’as ’is day;
But my day was yesterday, so lay me down again. 
You can draw the curtain, Maggie, right across the winder pane.

MASTER

   Master went a-hunting,
      When the leaves were falling;
   We saw him on the bridle path,
      We heard him gaily calling. 
’Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!’
   A glint of steel from bit and heel,
      The chestnut cantered faster;
   A red flash seen amid the green,
      And so good-bye to master.