MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. XVII 



VOLTIGEUB/S DERBY DAY. 



Hark ! hark ! the bell is ringing ; to the paddock we'll away, 

 Where four-and-twenty champions are stripping for the fray ; 

 " Our Jim" is " up" triumphant, over surgeon, drugs, and nurse, 

 And he hopes to see Newmarket with a " monkey" in his purse. 



Though of his lengthy 'Bolingbroke some ardent friends may vaunt, 



No laurel crown is destined for this son of John o Gaunt ; 



Soon will the " clerical trustee, " perhaps wish he saw things 



plainer, 

 When the trainer blames the jockey, and the jockey blames the 



trainer. 



The Mildew looketh showy, still Bartholomew must know 

 That the honest steel's not in him, which quite surpasseth show ; 

 Tho' his sire, Slane was ever a tough old racing file, 

 His mother, Semiseria, could only get a mile. 



There fat Ghillie leads the Nigger, one may know that " he is 



meant," 



From the mischief that is lurking in the smiles of Nat and Kent. 

 " Old John" is sweet on Pitsford, and his praises loudly hymns, 

 And enforces all his sentiments by " beggaring his limbs." 



For " Sim" on the Italian no Surplice honours wait, 

 And Royal Hart's no Phosphorus, despite the Eowley Plate j 

 St. Fabian and Valentine their " ponies" lost will rue, 

 And Brennus and Alonzo will find the pace too true. 



Captain Grant will fail his backers in their hour of utmost need, 

 And no story of Prince Albert can bolster up The Swede ; 

 While his great half-brother Charley will never face the hill 

 Nigh Sherwood's, the Dark Susan colt will come to a stand-still. 



The Knight of Gwynne would seem to have no stomach for the 



fight, 

 And long-backed, short-legged Mavors lias a hock that's far from 



right ; 



There goes Penang, the hollow back, to lead his chum a spin, 

 And Eogers upon Cariboo declares he means to win. 



Hail, Arab-like young Nutwith ! of thee strange tales they tell 

 That the kernel is departed, and there's nothing left but shell ; 

 The chesnut colt, Augean, of wind will find a lack, 

 Though he bears a 'cute-eyed artiste, like " Old Harry," on his 



back. 



I'll lay my life upon it, that's an ugly-tempered loon 

 That Johnny Sharp has mounted, and my Dorling styles Deicoon. 

 There's the " rough and ready " Clincher, though a double winning" 



bout 

 Keeps him in force, the Derby Course will find some soft place out. 



b 



