Some gave a shout, some roll'd about,
And antick'd as they rode,
And butchers whistled on their curs,
And milkmen _tally-ho'd_!

About two score there were, not more,
That gallopped in the race;
The rest, alas! lay on the grass,
As once in Chevy Chase!

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 last, between his teeth,
The biter held the bitt.

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!"