Charlie Sly poem

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howaboutthisone

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Hi

Does anyone know of a poem along these lines:

Charlie Sly was a fox who was fond of his dinner
He frequently stole it the ruddy old sinner
If the menu was chicken he'd take four or five
etc
etc

Unfortunatly thats all I can remember. My grand father had it on the wall, but unfortunatly he passed away many years ago, I am not sure what became of it. He knew the whole thing off by heart and I'd really like to get a copy of it.

Thanks
 
H

howaboutthisone

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Joined
30 December 2008
Messages
22
Visit site
Here it is:

Charlie Sly was a fox who was fond of his dinner
He frequently stole it the ruddy old sinner
When raiding a roost he'd leave nothing alive
If the menu was pheasant he'd take four or five

But fate overtook him as fate often will
For you can't have your fun without paying the bill
And the man who collected the bill in this case
Was a funny old chap with a dark purple face

His coat it was scarlet four days of the week
And his fancy for foxes and such like to seek
To chevy and chase them uphill and down dale
For said he 'it's fine exercise, keeps a man hale!'

He would issue each morn with his blood thirsty pack
And he wasn't contented unless he took back,
The mask of a fox or a badger maybe,
'Bad luck to the hen stealing varmints said he!'

Now it chanced on a night that our Charles had the luck
For to catch and to dine off a very fat duck,
That the duck wasn't his didn't matter a rap,
Then he curled himself comfily up for a nap.

There he slept like the just until twelve o' the clock,
And was dreaming of ducks, till awaked with a shock!
T'was the horn of old purple-face sounding a note!
And he knew he must hie to some place more remote.

Now a duck is a dainty, and eating it fun,
But it's not the best diet if you have to run
For your life with some forty odd foxhounds to follow,
Cheered on by a purple-faced huntsman's view hollo.

A turn round a cover near cost him his life,
For hounds they turned with him sharp as a knife,
But some thorns saved his brush, for they couldn't get through,
So he slipped through the fence and across the ditch flew.

He was out in the open, and brim full of pluck,
If only he'd not been so full of that duck!
But there it was with him as fixed as you please
As was Sinbad the sailors 'Old man of the seas'

Over grass, over fallow, he galloped his best,
Though he hadn't gone far when he wanted a rest,
But he knew that the hounds and that purple-faced bloke
Would be hard on his heels and that was no joke!



I could tell of the wiles which he tried to escape,
How he dropped to a trot, with a mouth wide a gape,
That duck got no lighter as you may suppose,
But the tale is too sad as it draws to a close.

I will spare you the details, with tragedy filled,
It suffices to say that the gourmand was killed,
The duck was avenged, the hounds ate Master Sly,
As most things eat each other I cannot tell why.

If this tale has a moral I think that it's this,
Do not ever eat more than you should of a dish,
You may not be disturbed by a hound or a horn,
But you'll have indigestion as sure as you're born.
 
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