Such were his trophies—not of spear and shield,
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes’ brushes;
Yet I must own—although in this I yield
To patriot sympathy a Briton’s blushes—
He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield,
Who, after a long chase o’er hills, dales, bushes,
And what not, though he rode beyond all price.
Asked next day, “If men ever hunted twice?”