Jerry. I see her, clearing the corner of yonder street—I’m not at fault now.
Tom. Tip us the view hallo! then, Jerry.
Jerry. Yoicks! yoicks!
Exeunt Omnes.
SCENE.—Tattersall’s.—Grooms, Jockeys, I’s Yorkshire-Coves, Blacklegs.
| SOLO AND CHORUS. |
| Air.—“Gee ho, Dobbin.” |
| Grooms, Jockies, and Chaunters, to Tattersal’s bring, Your lame and blind spavin’d prads in a string. Knowing ones, that have no legs to go on, may scoff, But we I’s Yorkshire coves here can make them go off. Gee ho, Dobbin! Gee ho, Dobbin! Gee ho, Dobbin! Gee up, and gee ho! |
Cope. Well, Master Gull’em, do you think we shall get the flat-catcher off to-day?
Gul. As sure as your name is Simon Cope, only wait till the flats come—have you given his pedigree to Tattersall?