EPSOM RACES.

"Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad, "Dat meet mishfartin here so bad

«Sher, I muss haf de shilling back, you know, "Ass Moses haf nat see de show.'

EPSOM RACES.

COME, Madam Musc, new nib thy pen,

And put on thy best graces;
To sing, in merry, jocund strain,
The joys of Epsom Races.

Curricles, coaches, chaises, giggs,
Beaux, bloods, and men of trade,
Black-legs, nobles, peers, and prigs,
All join the cavalcade.

The young, the old, the brown, the fair,
Of pleasure take their fill;

The mania spreads, from Berkeley-square,
As far as Fish-street-hill!

Miss Drugget cries-" My sweet papa,
Let's go to Epsom pray;
There's you, and I, and dear mamma,
Will fill a one-horse chaise.

In order to go safe and slow,
By day-break we 'll set off;
The ride will do you good I know,
And cure your nasty cough.

I doates upon the country now;

How sweet the wernal breezes ! We'll take our dinner, too, I wow, And dine beneath the treezes,'

Old Drugget shook his cranium wise,
But madam cried-" I fegs!

EPSOM RACES.

What, tho' old Dobbin 's lost both eyes,
He still has got four legs.

You cruel man, you 're more severe,
Than Chinese, Turk, or Persian ;
Deny your wife, and daughter dear,
But one short day's diversion.

So, Mr. Drugget, pray give o'er,
And mind what I desire;
Go to the Liv'ryman, next door,
And quick a buggy hire."

The cit found all resistance nought,
My lady was in arnest ;.

The chaise was hir'd, provisions bought,
And poor old Dobbin harness'd.

Through ev'ry village that they went,
The boys began a hooting
Their luckless steed was almost spent
Before they got to Tooting.

Old Drugget laid on many a blow,
And whipp'd with might and main ;
And, now, behold, he cry'd, "Gee-ho!"
And now he jerk'd the rein.

At length he turn'd to spousy dear,
And said " My sweetest jewel,
The race-ground, love, is very near,
For, see, we 're ent'ring Ewall."

Reaching, at last, the crowded course,
They gap'd, they star'd, they wonder'd;
Whilst bets upon the fav'rite horse,
Vociferously thunder'd.

The cit exclaim'd-" Confound this din,
I wish, as I'm a sinner;

H

73

What with the fagging that I've had,
By Jove I'm almost dead;
Holla! you sir! come here my lad,
You, gin and gingerbread!"

But when the racing list he reads,
To trust his sight afraid is;
"Zounds, here 's not only sporting steeds,
But also sporting ladies!

Sure there was never such a scene,
Since days of Father Adam;
I'll see it nearer"-out he leapt,
And gave the reins to madani.

Ent'ring a booth, a dextrous cheat,
In trick and cunning able,
Seduc'd the unsuspicious cit
To join an E. O. table.

Tempted by play's inviting call,

A guinea bright he ventures; And views the circling of the ball, On expectation's tenters.

Breathless with joy, he gain'd his chaise,
And cry'd "the guinea's won!"
But who can paint his grief, amaze-
His fav'rite watch was gone!

With dreadful ire his bosom burn'd,
But now the horses start;
Alas! the chaise was overturn'd,
By running 'gainst a cart!

Away went Drugget and his dear,

Away went ham and chicken;

MURPHY DELANEY.

With bottles, glasses, wine and beer,
Ye Gods, what pretty picking!

There, too, good lack, between the wheels
Was seen their hapless daughter,
Kicking aloft her lovely heels,

'Midst copious streams of porter!

'I've lost my wig," poor Drugget roar'd,
"Your wig, that's nought," cry'd Miss,
"Mamma has spoil'd her bran-new gown,
And I my blue pelise."

The unlucky chaise went quite to pot,
Old Dobbin too was undone ;
At great expense a cart they got,
To take them back to London.

Arriv'd at home, th' enrag'd cit,
With words the most uncivil,
Sent horses, jockies, E. O. too,
All packing to the devil!

75

MURPHY DELANEY.

(c. DIRDIN, JUN.)

IT was Murphy Delaney, so funny and frisky,

Popp'd in a sheebeen shop to get his skin full; And reel'd out again pretty well lin'd with whiskey, So fresh as a shamrock, and blind as a bull; But a trifling accident happen'd our rover,

Who took the quay-side for the floor of his shed And the keel of a coal-barge he just tumbled over And thought all the time he was going to-bed; And sing fillalloo, hubbaboo, whack, botheration, Every man in his humour, as Kate kiss'd the pig!

76

THE OWL AND THE PARROT.

Some folks passing by, drew him out of the river,

And got a horse-doctor his sickness to mend Who swore that poor Pat was no longer a liver, But dead as the devil, and there was an end: So they sent for the coroner's jury to try him,

;

But Pat, not half liking the comical strife, Fell to twisting and turning the while they sat by him, And came (when he found it convenient) to life; Sing fillalloo, &c.

Says Pat to the jury, "Your worships, an't please you, I don't think I'm dead; so what is it you 'd do?" "Not dead!" said the foreman, "you spalpeen, be easy,

"Do you think, do n't the doctor know better than you?"

So then they went on in the business further;
Examin'd the doctor about his belief;

Then brought poor Delaney in guilty of murder, And swore they would hang him in spite of his teeth;

Sing fillallo, &c.

But Paddy click'd hold of a clumsy shelaly,
And laid on the doctor, who, stiff as a post,
Still swore that it cou'd n't be Murphy Delaney,
But was something alive, and so must be his ghost
The jury began then with fear to survey him,

While he like the devil about him did pay;
So they sent out of hand for the clargy to lay him,
But Pat laid the clargy, and then ran away;
Sing fillalloo, &c.

THE OWL AND THE PARROT.

(PINDAR.)

AN OWL fell desp'rately in love, poor soul!
Sighing and hooting in his lonely hole-