HE
Do not exaggerate the risks I run.
Right Royal was a bad horse in the past,
A rogue, a cur, but he is cured at last;
For I was right, his former owner wrong,
He is a game good chaser going strong.
He and my lucky star may pull me through.
SHE
O grant they may; but think what's racing you,
Think for a moment what his chances are
Against Sir Lopez, Soyland, Kubbadar.
HE
You said you thought Sir Lopez past his best.
I do, myself.
SHE
But there are all the rest.
Peterkinooks, Red Ember, Counter Vair,
And then Grey Glory and the Irish mare.
HE
She's scratched. The rest are giving me a stone.
Unless the field hides something quite unknown
I stand a chance. The going favours me.
The ploughland will be bogland certainly,
After this rain. If Royal keeps his nerve,
If no one cannons me at jump or swerve,
I stand a chance. And though I dread to fail,
This passionate dream that drives me like a sail
Runs in my blood, and cries, that I shall win.
SHE
Please Heaven you may; but now (for me) begin
Again the horrors that I cannot tell,
Horrors that made my childhood such a hell,
Watching my Father near the gambler's grave
Step after step, yet impotent to save.
You do not know, I never let you know,
The horror of those days of long ago
When Father raced to ruin. Every night
After my Mother took away the light
For weeks before each meeting, I would see
Horrible horses looking down on me
Laughing and saying "We shall beat your Father."
Then when the meetings came I used to gather
Close up to Mother, and we used to pray.
"O God, for Christ's sake, let him win to-day."
And then we had to watch for his return,
Craning our necks to see if we could learn,
Before he entered, what the week had been.
Now I shall look on such another scene
Of waiting on the race-chance. For to-day,
Just as I did with Father, I shall say
"Yes, he'll be beaten by a head, or break
A stirrup leather at the wall, or take
The brook too slow, and, then, all will be lost."