The Lost Drink
I had spent the night in the watch-house—
My head was the size of three—
So I went and asked the chemist
To fix up a drink for me;
And he brewed it from various bottles
With soda and plenty of ice,
With something that smelt like lemon,
And something that seemed like spice.
It fell on my parching palate
Like the dew on a sun-baked plain,
And my system began to flourish
Like the grass in a soft spring rain;
It wandered throughout my being,
Suffusing my soul with rest,
And I felt as I “scoffed” that liquid
That life had a new-found zest.
I have been on the razzle-dazzle
Full many a time since then
But I never could get the chemist
To brew me that drink again.
He says he's forgotten the notion—
'Twas only by chance it came—
He's tried me with various liquids
But oh! they are not the same.
We have sought, but we sought it vainly,
That one lost drink divine;
We have sampled his various bottles,
But somehow they don't combine:
Yet I know when I cross the River
And stand on the Golden Shore
I shall meet with an angel-chemist
Who'll brew me that drink once more.
Mulligan's Mare
Oh, Mulligan's bar was the deuce of a place
To drink and to fight, and to gamble and race;
The height of choice spirits from near and from far
Were all concentrated on Mulligan's bar.
There was “Jerry the Swell”, and the jockey-boy Ned,
“Dog-bite-me”—so called from the shape of his head—
And a man whom the boys, in their musical slang,
Designed as the “Gaffer of Mulligan's Gang”.
Now Mulligan's Gang had a racer to show,
A bad 'un to look at, a good 'un to go;
Whenever they backed her you safely might swear
She'd walk in a winner, would Mulligan's mare.
But Mulligan, having some radical views,
Neglected his business and got on the booze;
He took up with runners—a treacherous troop—
Who gave him away and he “fell in the soup”.
And so it turned out on a fine summer day,
A bailiff turned up with a writ of “fi. fa.”;
He walked to the bar with a manner serene,
“I levy,” said he, “in the name of the Queen.”
Then Mulligan wanted, in spite of the law,
To pay out the bailiff with “one on the jaw”;
He drew out to hit him, but, ere you could wink,
He changed his intentions and stood him a drink.
A great consultation there straightway befel
'Twixt jockey-boy Neddy and Jerry the Swell,
And the man with the head, who remarked “Why, you bet!
Dog-bite-me!” said he, “but we'll diddle 'em yet.
“We'll slip out the mare from her stall in a crack,
And put in her place the old broken-down hack;
The hack is so like her, I'm ready to swear
The bailiff will think he has Mulligan's mare.
“So out with the racer and in with the screw,
We'll show him what Mulligan's talent can do;
And if he gets nasty and dares to say much,
I'll knock him as stiff as my grandmother's crutch.”
Then off to the town went the mare and the lad;
The bailiff came out, never dreamt he was “had”;
But marched to the stall with a confident air—
“I levy,” said he, “upon Mulligan's mare.”
He watched her by day and he watched her by night,
She was never an instant let out of his sight,
For races were coming away in the West
And Mulligan's mare had a chance with the best.
“Here's a chance,” thought the bailiff, “to serve my own ends,
I'll send off a wire to my bookmaking friends:
Get all you can borrow, beg, snavel or snare
And lay the whole lot against Mulligan's mare.”
The races came round, and a crowd on the course
Were laying the mare till they made themselves hoarse,
And Mulligan's party, with ardour intense,
They backed her for pounds and for shillings and pence.
And think of the grief of the bookmaking host
At the sound of the summons to go to the post—
For down to the start with her thorough-bred air
As fit as a fiddle pranced Mulligan's mare!
They started, and off went the boy to the front,
He cleared out at once, and he made it a hunt;
He steadied as rounding the corner they wheeled,
Then gave her her head and she smothered the field.
The race put her owner right clear of his debts,
He landed a fortune in stakes and in bets,
He paid the old bailiff the whole of his pelf,
And gave him a hiding to keep for himself.
So all you bold sportsmen take warning, I pray,
Keep clear of the running, you'll find it don't pay;
For the very best rule that you'll hear in a week—
Is never to bet on a thing that can speak.
And whether you're lucky or whether you lose,
Keep clear of the cards and keep clear of the booze,
And fortune in season will answer your prayer
And send you a flyer like Mulligan's mare.
The Matrimonial Stakes
I wooed her with a steeplechase, I won her with a fall,
I made her heartstrings quiver on the flat
When the pony missed his take-off, and we crashed into the wall;
Well, she simply had to have me after that!
It awoke a thrill of interest when they pulled me out for dead
From beneath the shattered ruins of a horse;
And, although she looked indifferent when I landed—on my head—
In the water, it appealed to her, of course!
When I won the Flappers' Flat-race it was “all Sir Garneo”,
For she praised the way I made my final run.
And she thought the riding did it—for how could the poor girl know
That a monkey could have ridden it and won!
Then they “weighed me in” a winner—it's not often that occurs!
So I didn't let my golden chances slip,
For I showed her all the blood-marks where I jabbed him with the spurs,
And the whip-strokes where I hit him with the whip.
Then I asked her if she loved me, and she seemed inclined to shirk
For a moment, so I took her by the head
(So to speak) and rushed her at it; and she seemed to like the work
When she kissed me, though she blushed a rosy red.
She's a mouth as soft as velvet, and she plenty has of heart;
I could worship every little step she takes;
And the saddling-bell is ringing, so we're going to the start,
Certain winners, for the Matrimonial Stakes!