_Eight Hour?_ A roarer, all noise and no pace!
Eh? _Local Option?_ Won't win; though they whack him!
What _have_ they got, that can score the Big Race?
_Mr. Punch_. Well, I must own they do seem a bit out of it.
Still, the Big Race for surprises is famed.
_Trainer_. Bah! It's a moral for us, not a doubt of it.
Horse that can lick us is not foaled or named.
_Mr. Punch_. Glad you're so cock-sure, dear JOKIM. Still lately
They've scored some small handicaps, that you'll allow.
_Trainer_. Oh! Harborough Stakes! Well, that don't scare me greatly,
Mere fluke after all, though they raised a big row.
_Mr. Punch_. It's mostly "a fluke" when opponents go by us;
But flukes, you know, count, at the end of the game.
_Trainer_. Well, look at the betting! Although they decry us,
They'd like to have money on us all the same.
Their best horse is "aged," their best jockey oldish,
He's plucky, but years, Sir, will tell on the nerve.
Some of 'em who've backed him the longest grow coldish,
Whilst others do hint that he seems on the swerve.
The lot who are sweet on that leggy colt, _Labour_,
Would like a new "mount," if they dared to speak out.
There isn't a man of 'em quite trusts his neighbour,
_Home Rule_ with BILL up! That inspires 'em with doubt!
(Ask H-RC-RT or R-S-B-RY--on the Q.T., Sir.)
The Old Jock is obstinate, new 'uns can't ride.
Funk M-RL-Y, or L-BBY and that lot! Not _me_, Sir!
I tell you the chances are all on our side.
_Mr. Punch_. Well, luck goes with them who're not shirkers or shrinkers.
Ah! here comes your crack--rather restive, I fear.
By Jove, are you going to run him in blinkers?
And who's your new Jock? His seat seems a bit queer.
_Trainer_. Well, Sir, don't you see, it's just this way. He's borrowed,
That Jock is; a wonderful pet of Brum JOE's
Must work with his Party; some of us have sorrowed
To make such close pals of such reglar old foes;
The horse don't half like him, I'm bound to admit it,
Between you and me I don't like it myself,
For me and dear JOSEPH have not always hit it.
But then, he stands in; we must look to the pelf;
Can't afford to offend him, our Stable can't--blow it!
Eh! What? You have heard me disparage Boy Bill
As too Free in his ways by long chalk