Part 2 (1/2)

Then Billy Waldrist, from the Lynn, With Jockey Hill, from Pitts, came in And had a sip of gin and stout To help the jockey's sweatings out.

”Rare day for scent,” the jockey said.

A pony, like a feather bed On four short sticks, took place aside.

The little girl who rode astride Watched everything with eyes that glowed With glory in the horse she rode.

At half-past ten, some lads on foot Came to be beaters to a shoot Of rabbits at the Warren Hill.

Rough sticks they had, and Hob and Jill, Their ferrets, in a bag, and netting.

They talked of dinner-beer and betting; And jeered at those who stood around.

They rolled their dogs upon the ground And teased them: ”Rats,” they cried; ”go fetch.”

”Go seek, good Roxer; 'z bite, good betch.

What dinner-beer'll they give us, lad?

s.e.x quarts the lot last year we had.

They'd ought to give us seven this.

Seek, Susan; what a betch it is.”

THE CLERGYMAN

[Ill.u.s.tration: The clergyman from Condicote]

A pommle cob came trotting up, Round-bellied like a drinking-cup, Bearing on back a pommle man Round-bellied like a drinking-can.

The clergyman from Condicote.

His face was scarlet from his trot, His white hair bobbed about his head As halos do round clergy dead.

He asked Tom Copp, ”How long to wait?”

His loose mouth opened like a gate To pa.s.s the wagons of his speech, He had a mighty voice to preach, Though indolent in other matters, He let his children go in tatters.

His daughter Madge on foot, flushed-cheekt, In broken hat and boots that leakt, With bits of hay all over her, Her plain face grinning at the stir (A broad pale face, snub-nosed, with speckles Of sandy eyebrows sprinkt with freckles) Came after him and stood apart Beside the darling of her heart, Miss Hattie Dyce from Baydon Dean; A big young fair one, chiselled clean, Brow, chin, and nose, with great blue eyes, All innocence and sweet surprise, And golden hair piled coil on coil Too beautiful for time to spoil.

They talked in undertones together Not of the hunting, nor the weather.

Old Steven, from Scratch Steven Place (A white beard and a rosy face), Came next on his stringhalty grey, ”I've come to see the hounds away,”

He said, ”And ride a field or two.

We old have better things to do Than breaking all our necks for fun.”

He shone on people like the sun, And on himself for s.h.i.+ning so.

Three men came riding in a row:-- John Pyn, a bull-man, quick to strike, Gross and blunt-headed like a shrike Yet sweet-voiced as a piping flute; Tom See, the trainer, from the Toot, Red, with an angry, puzzled face And mouth twitched upward out of place, Sucking cheap grapes and spitting seeds; And Stone, of Bartle's Cattle Feeds, A man whose bulk of flesh and bone Made people call him Twenty Stone.

He was the man who stood a pull At Tencombe with the Jersey bull And brought the bull back to his stall.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Three men came riding in a row]

Some children ranged the tavern-wall, Sucking their thumbs and staring hard; Some grooms brought horses from the yard.

Jane Selbie said to Ellen Tranter, ”A lot on 'em come d.o.g.g.i.n', ant her?”

”A lot on 'em,” said Ellen, ”look There'm Mister Gaunt of Water's Hook.

They say he” ... (whispered). ”Law,” said Jane.

Gaunt flung his heel across the mane, And slithered from his horse and stamped.

”Boots tight,” he said, ”my feet are cramped.”

A loose-shod horse came clicking clack; Nick Wolvesey on a hired hack Came t.i.ttup, like a cup and ball.