She's strained a back-sinew, I'm certain! Poor beast, how I've cut her!—Who cares?
I've won the gold locket for Kitty. Who-a up, there, you sweetest of mares!
Brown, confidentially to his mount, Robin, ch. c.b. p., 13-2:—
I can romp in alone when I please. I can leave him behind when I will.
I could give him a furlong with ease; and I'm three times his equal in skill!
But I'm rolling about in my seat, (They'll think that I'm out o' my wits)
And I'm working my hands and my feet like a Cabuli dealer in fits.
No, Robin; you mustn't get nearer. This wasn't our form I admit,
When we fluttered the dovecots at Dehra, and won by two lengths and a bit.
I don't care a rap how it goes. His heart is one stake in the race,
(Miss Black's in the Stand, I suppose) and he'd slaughter his mare for a place.
I'll save the old screw all I can, though my arms are nigh wrenched from their socket—
Was ever a race since Gymkhanas began yet "pulled" for the sake of a locket?
Well, I've got a wife of my own, and I rode for her once in our wooing
With a man who could give me a stone, and whodid pretty much what I'm doing.
Come back, Rob! You're pulling like sin! (Poor tat, how he's making her bleed!)
Come back!It's an eight-anna "spin," to be finished at twelve-anna speed.
You leather-mouthed son of a caster! I daren't pull you more than I've done!
My faith! but we'd very near passed herAll right! Go ahead then! He's won.
You know your own business too well, Sir? Put it all down to wicked Miss Black!
I ran you to lose. Don't you tell, Sir! He's ruined a second-rate hack.
