That against him we've made since his very first running,
Do they mean him to win after all? Artful set,
That Stable! It strikes me they've been playing cunning.
One wouldn't have backed him, first off, for a bob.
His owner concerning him scarcely seemed caring.
Eugh! No one supposed he was fair "on the job";
A mere trial-horse, simply "out for an airing."
When he first stripped in public he looked such a screw,
He was hailed with a general chorus of laughter;
Young BAL seemed abashed at the general yahboo!
And pooh-poohed his new mount! What the doose is he after?
I'm bound to admit the Horse _looks_ pretty fit,
And the boy sits him well, and as though he meant _trying_.
I say, this won't do! I must bounce him a bit.
Most awkward, you know, if his "slug" takes to _flying_!

_Rising Young Jockey_ (_aside_). Hillo! There's Old WILLIAM! He's out
on the scoot.
The artful Old Hand! Hope he'll like what he looks on!
He slated this nag as a peacocky brute,
Whose utter collapse they've been building their books on.
How now, my spry veteran? Only a boy
On a three-legged crock? Well, I own you are older,
And watching your riding's a thing to enjoy;
There isn't a Jock who is defter _and_ bolder;
Your power, authority, eloquence--yes,
For your gift of the gab is a caution--are splendid;
But--the youngster _may_ teach you a lesson, I guess,
As to judgment of pace ere the contest is ended.