Caught wind of a rumour they did,
That the Prince was off to hunt.
"Of blood sports we'll be rid!"
Protests weren't made blunt.
Regardless, he rode out
In the company of dogs on lead;
Then someone gave a shout -
That fox! They'd make him bleed.
The hounds raced through the wood,
While bugle blared with glee;
But that old fox just stood
Stock still and wouldn't flee.
A mile to their catch,
And nought stood in the way,
Except a briar patch,
Which claimed two dogs that day.
The lead horse took to fright;
Crashed through branches stout.
The rider lost his sight;
His eyes were gouged right out.
The other dogs raced down
Near traps set up for game.
Those poachers would be found
Who made those dogs go lame.
Low hedge some horses hurdled.
One rider came off lightly
But hunters' blood was curdled,
As hooves his head squashed tightly.
Two others sped through short cuts
That they hadn't seen before.
Sudden sharp drop claimed their guts,
Splattering blood and gore.
Remaining few were closing now.
That fox he did not wince.
Guns were raised - but somehow
The first shot took the Prince.
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