NO. 1.—"HALL THE WINNERS!"
Of all the cries this world can boast—
A loud, unconscionable host—
There's one that I detest the most—
It haunts me o'er my morning toast,
It scares my luncheon's calm and dinner's.
It dogs my steps throughout the week,
That cursed crescendo of a shriek;
I cannot read, or write, or speak,
Undeafened by its howl unique,
That demon-yell of "Hall the Winners!"
I'm not, I own, a racing man;
I never loved a horse that ran,
And betting is a vice I ban;
Still, to the sporting caravan—
Or good, or bad, or saints, or sinners—
I bear no malice; nor would take
A leaf from any books they make;
Why then, should they, for mercy's sake,
Pursue me till my senses ache
With that relentless "Hall the Winners?"
If it were only but a few,
But "Hall the Winners!"—why, the crew
Must winning be the whole year through!
Why can't a veteran or two
Retire in favour of beginners?
I'd rather welcome e'en the strain
Of "Hall the Losers!" than remain
A martyr frenzied and profane
To that importunate refrain
Of (There! they're at it!!) "Hall the Winners!"