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[ BABY’S TROTTING SONG]

Come,see how the ladies ride,

All so pretty, all so gay,

In their beauty, in their pride,

Down Broadway;

Prancing horses silver shod,

All so pretty, all so gay;

Princely feathers bend and nod,

Down Broadway.

Jiggety-jog, jiggety-jog,

Over the mountain, through the bog—

That’s the way the farmers go,

Hear the news and see the show;

Pumpkins round strapped on behind,

Eggs in baskets, too, you’ll find,

Soon to change for calico—

That’s the way the farmers go.

Bells a-jingle, fingers tingle,

Ditto toes, likewise nose.

The wind doth blow,

And all the snow

Around doth scatter;

Our teeth they chatter,

But that’s no matter—

The song rings clear

With a Happy New Year,

And never a mutter,

As we fly in our cutter.
Jingle, jar, horse car, Leave you near, or take you far. Take a seat upon my lap, Cling on, swing on by the strap; Here a stop, and there a start— Let me off, I’ll take a cart!

Sword and pistols by their side,

And that’s the way the officers ride!

Boots stretched out like a letter V,

we belong to the cavalry!

Over the hurdles after the hounds, tirra-la! the hunting-hornsounds—

Dashaway, slashaway, reckless and fast! Crashaway, smashaway, tumbledat last!

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