30 



A DEAL WITH AN IRISH HORSE 

 DEALER AT A WILTSHIRE FAIR. 



He was bred near Dublin city, 



Av he can't go it's a pity ; 



And he walks just like a lady with her sweetheart at a ball ; 



See him now so lightly treading, 



Like a flea upon your bedding, 



Ah ! he'll bear yer honour's scarlet through a run without a 

 fall. 



Only four ? Yer honour's joking. 



Och ! now don't ye be provoking ; 



Did ye say I drew the sucking teeth to make the others 

 grow? 



Sure, he's five, but I'll belave ye, 



For it's no use to decave ye. 



Ah ! now, Captain, you're so clever, it's yourself that's in 

 the know. 



Whisht ! See there he stands forenent ye. 



It was Providence that sent ye ; 



Here's the horse to make the poor man rich, the rich man 

 mad for joy. 



An' maybe you'll never match him, 



For there's nothing bred can catch him. 



Tear an' ages he can gallop, av it's chasing he's the boy. 



