The Joys of Racing
The Joys of Racing.
COME away to the RACE,
‘Tis a humourous place;
No pleasure like it can found, firs—
Here the high mettel’d steed
Sweeps the course o’er with speed,
Swift as lightning, scarce touching the
Hear the bustle and noise
Of dogs, horses, and boys;
See the booths stor’d with rum, wine, and
Bullocks tongues and salt hams,
For to relish your drams;
With nice cakes for the ladies, so handy.
Here’s while dames with black eyes,
Selling pound. cakes and pies,
Expecting to make a smart penny;
While BLACK BOB with his song,
‘Midst the thick and the throng,
Runs about, sirs, as busy as any.
Such a fight, I am sure,
Many ne’er, saw before,
Here are horses and men in a jumble;
While some, drunker than brutes,
Lie as silent as mutes,
On the ground, where they happen’d to
Here the pretty young dame,
Full of love’s killing flame,
Looks round, with a languishing air, sirs,
In hopes for to meet
With some lover most sweet,
Who will treat her to cakes, wine, or beer,
Butchers, barbers, and tailors,
Draymen, blacksmiths, and sailors,
Lamp-lighters and storekeepers’ clerks, sirs,
Mix with bawds and old prudes,
Who with freedom intrudes
on the pockets of these pretty sparks, sirs.
How the horses will run
When the race has begun,
Each striving the other to beat, sirs: —
Then the knowing-ones, all,
From the great to the small,
Will try hard each other to cheat, firs.
Here the poor simple clown,
Lately come into town,
Possessed of more money than wit, sirs,
Will bet two to one!
Quick his money is gone,
And the fool never dreams that he’s bit, sirs.
Thus it is in life’s race,
Men, like horses, do pace,
Like them they trot, gallop, and canter,
Till they’re stop’d at life’s end.
By old Death, their best friend,
Whom they cannot cheat, humbug, nor
Now perhaps you will say
Thai I’m going to pray,
Or, that some moral lesson I’m tracing;
But, believe me, your wrong,
For I’ll finish my song
With—”Success to our Baltimore Racing.”