A Derbyshire Fox Chase.
This poem was published in the Glossop-dale Chronicle on 14 March 1902 as part of the series of Reminiscences of Glossop between 1800 & 1850.
There is no indication of its age other than it reputedly came "From an old manuscript".
A Derbyshire Fox Chase.
Kind
muses now inspire my brain,
With all your loud harmonious
strains,
That I the huntsman's praise may sing,
Till craggy
rocks and valleys ring.
Whilst we in Bacchus' fountain swim,
For
to refresh our wearied limbs.
These
lines to you I do indite
Who in the harmless sport delight;
Who
love where blushing day doth peep
To aspire the lowring mountains
steep;
For to present the lovely morn
With echoes of their
hounds and horn.
All
you who are a huntsman's friend,
If you will please for to
attend
I will sing the hunting of a fox
Who lately came from
Bradford rocks.
Was Nimrod for to live once more,
The like you
never heard before.
Through
lovely woodland close be came,
From thence unto Hadow by
name,
Whose straggy wethers fat and fare,
Made Reynard many a
banquet rare,
Till fortune his wheel about,
And sent him into
Kinder Scout.
He
like a plund'ring thief then rang'd,
His quarters with each night
he chang'd :
From the South head to the rich cloughs where
he
Still exercised his cruelty,
Upon their tender bleating
flocks,
Which fell a prey to this sly fox.
This
change of dainties Reynard lacks
To the field he comes where he
ransacks
Their ponds and rivers, cotes and pens,
From the
cackling geese, ducks, cocks, and hens,
Till with their hounds
this long tail'd elf
They forc'd to quarter into Shelf.
Then
within Glossop liberty,
Reyn'rd would act his tragedy;
Each
night from them a lamb did take,
Which caus'd the shepherd's heart
to ache,
Crying, alas, we are all undone,
If he proceeds as
he's begun.
Then
each man spake unto his friend,
Saying, let us for John Wild
send;
To this advice they all agreed.
He came and brought his
traps with speed ;
But his chinric nor canalick baits
Upon
Reynard could put no cheat.
Yet
to escape these trapping foes,
Up by James Thorn's old Reynard
goes,
From thence to the joiner's stones, where he
Through the
bleak clouds full speed did flee,
Until he came to the rollick
stones,
Where he did rest his weary bones.
It
was in the frosty winter time,
That Reynard in our craggy
clime,
Upon our flocks used such outrage;
Nothing but death
his wrath could swage ;
Each night a hog, or wether good,
To
allay his thirst he suck'd their blood.
George
Hadfield, he had a black lamb,
Which he to the moor sent with its
dam ;
The first night that Reynard came there,
It was to him a
most dainty fare;
Harrison had five hogs feeding there,
Four of
which fell to Reynard's share.
But
Braddock thought to play a feat,
On this deceiver put a cheat
;
He'd a lamb by which he set much store,
And when he turned
it to the moor,
As I have heard his neighbours tell,
About its
neck he hung a bell.
Thinking
thereby Reynard to fright;
But as he came that way one night,
He
chanc'd a tinkling noise to hear,
Which caus'd him to prick his
list'ning ear,
But finding it to be a trick,
Resolved he was
this lamb to lick.
John
Garside I had almost forgot,
Whose ewe, alas, fell to the same lot
;
This ewe she had a lamb, which she
Did
guard from Reynard's tyranny,
With such a motherly care, that
she
Would die ere it must worried be.
Which
so enrag'd Reynard that he
Chang'd pity into tyranny ;
With
this ewe he did engage,
To glut his blood-thirst savage rage ;
T'
next morn this pretty taipping lamb,
Stood bleating by its worried
dam.
Which
of you e'er the like did hear,
That one fox in less than one
year,
One hundred and seventy, as I heard say,
He either
worried or carried aw;
Which damage then, as I am told,
Was
found to amount to near sixty pounds.
The
men of Padfield then were cross.
Because they thus their fatlin'
lost ;
They said,- come brethren, let's agree,
To send for our
fraternity
From Woodhead, Longden, and Tinsel,
To see if we
this fox can kill.
We
sent, and our assistants came,
One Henry Inchliff by name,
And
Joshua Earnshaw from High Stone;
Woolley and Garside, every
one,
With hounds and horns; there tell
To ring old Reynard's
passing bell.
The
Chase.
'Twas
in the fragrant month of June,
That we set out one morning
soon;
For the reapers bent without fail,
To see if dogs could
find the trail;
And there we cast our hounds about,
Who quickly
found he was gone out.
Then
leading Windsor, he did wind,
And chattering Singwell with him
joined ;
Forester trips it very fine,
Whilst Sherwood runs in
the same line ;
And ranging jewel doth pursue ;
If Wrial
spends, depend it's true.
The
love steps in vain is spent,
Yet Phillis always holds the scent ;
Fairmaid
gives many a doubling lie,
Whilst Crowner he doth seem to fly
;
And Trimmer he much haste doth make,
Whilst Lily to her heels
did take.
Thumper
away then o'er the plain,
And Bellman follows him amain;
And
little Virgin trips it fine ;
Yonker would babble, but has no time
;
Rockwood and Thumper run hard there.
Yet age forced them to
bring up the rear.
Our
dogs, they being thus laid in,
To drive old Reynard did begin,
At
such a rate as it appears,
Great Jove's mortal eyes and ears,
He'd
fly from his supernatural court,
To attend on this friendly sport.
The
mountains and valleys then did rebound
Whilst the aerail horizon
did resound ;
Whilst the echoes of our thundering cry.
Which
seem'd for to ransack the sky,
And plunder each celestial
sport,
To honour us with pasttime there.
When
Reynard heard our thundering cry,
To know our hounds were very
nigh,
Though he was ranging after prey,
He then made the best
of his way;
He ran so fast he seem'd to fly.
Thinking
to save his life thereby.
Down Torside clough there he sway,
O'er
Weder Bridge without delay ;
For the old gale foot he did
repair;
From the Ramskin to the White Mare;
For the Knowls Hole
be was inclined,
Yet there he could no shelter find.
Before
him we the bold did take;
Behind our dogs pursued so hard,
They
put Reynard to such a fright,
Down Wilmer Clough with all his
might,
For the Stoke hold he did engage,
Thinking to escape our
thund'ring rage.
But
for all his haste he was too late,
Our hounds pursued at such a
rate,
That they by force fetched him again,
So he could not the
hold obtain,
Which caused his very bowels to ache,
And forced
him a loose hold to take.
A
hole! A hole! we then did cry,
To alarm the admiring standers
by,
Who all at once came rushing in,
To tear the rocks they did
begin,
More like lions than like men,
To fetch old Reynard from
his den.
This
joyful news to Glossop went,
And noble Wagstaffe, he has sent
A
bountiful reward of beer,
To drink while we the rocks did
tear;
One Nicholson, a man of fame,
To attend our sport he
thither came.
Stout
hearted Garside was so bold,
He slip'd into the plunderer's
hold,
And when Reynard saw him come in,
He fearfully at him did
grin,
Yet from his den he did him bring,
And down among the
dogs did fling.
The
valleys then were filled with sounds,
Of shouts of men, and cries
of hounds,
Which spread the tidings far and wide,
That sly
Reynard at last bad died ;
And Woolley bravely blew the horn,
As
if the rocks he would have torn.
We
hunters then with one consent,
To old Glossop town we went,
For
to refresh our wearied souls
With charming nectar flowing
bowls,
Whilst peals of bells for joy did ring,
And we in sweet
content did sing.
From
thence to Tinsel we did hie,
There we drank Sir John Fountain dry
;
And having tippled all his beer,
We thought good to stay no
longer there,
So shaking hands without all strife,
Each man
went straight up to his wife.
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Last updated: 8 January 2024