One day I walked the road and crossed a field to go by where the hounds ran hard. And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased to where the path was barred. One fine young lady`s horse refused the fence to clear. I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared.
Crop-handle carved in bone; sat high upon a throne of finest English leather. The Queen of all the Pack: this joker raised his hat and talked about the weather. All should be warned about this high-born Hunting Girl. She took this simple man`s downfall in hand; I raised the flag that she unfurled.
Boot leather flashing and spur-necks the size of my thumb. This high-born hunter had tastes as strange as they come.
Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth. Her standing over: me on my knees underneath.
My lady, be discrete. I must get to my feet and go back to the farm. Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate, I might come to some harm. I`m not inclined to acts refined, if that`s how it goes. Oh, high-born Hunting Girl, I`m just a normal low-born so-and-so.
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