The struggle for election was also epitomized under the popular paraphrase of a race-course: “The Parliamentary Race; or, the City Jockies” (April, 1754). Sir John Barnard is first on “Steady,” Mr. Slingsby Bethel is second on “Buzzard;” Sir R. Ladbrooke on “Trimmer,” and William Beckford on “Will o’ the Wisp,” are making great exertions to cut out Sir Richard Glyn on “Little Driver,” who is flogging his horse to keep the third place, which he ultimately lost, his name standing fifth at the close of the poll; Sir Crisp Gascoyne is left behind with “Miss Canning;” Sir William Calvert has come to grief, his horse, “Loose Legs,” having stumbled over a Jew pedlar, and, with the rider, been thrown out of the race. The contest is witnessed by horsemen, gentlemen on foot occupying the stand which the horses must pass, and the usual crowd of spectators present on a race-course, including an itinerant gin-seller dispensing spirits to workmen, in allusion to the distiller, Sir R. Ladbrooke. Various observations are made on the chances of the race: “Old Steady [Barnard] is in first!” “Buzzard [Bethel] will blunder in second!” “Will o’ the Wisp [Beckford] has blood in him!” and other comments, as indicated above. The state of the “Parliamentary Stakes” is expounded in a copy of verses, possibly a parody after one of Tom D’Urfey’s odd ditties:—
“THE PARLIAMENTARY RACE; OR, THE CITY JOCKIES.
“O! Shade of D’Urfey, grant me Vit-a
To sing those Jockies of the city,
Who want in Parliament to get-a
Doodle, Doodle, Do.
“First comes Sir John, who wins the day;
His horse is ready to run away,
Nor will at all for ‘Loose Legs’ stay.
“But who is he on that scrambling Brute?
What, don’t you know, Sir, ’tis past dispute?
O! that is Alderman Orator Mute.
“Who flogs so hard, the third to be in?
O, that is a Knight, Sir Richard Glyn,
And ‘Little Driver,’ too, will win.
“O! see how he spins there, ‘Will of the Wisp’-a,
He’ll distance ‘Miss Canning,’ and Sir Crisp-a,
And all the Broomstaffs of the Gipsy.
“‘O! Damn the Jew,’ Sir William cries,
As o’er his horse he headlong flies.
Ay, that damn’d Jew threw dust in his Eyes.
“Sir Robert upon his ‘Trimming Nag’
Has too much spirit too long to lag,
He soon will pass the distance-flag.
“O! where’s ‘Miss Canning’? Out of sight,
Ay, her best strokes are in the night,
Now bring her up—or never, Knight.”