To have to look up, from páté or cup,
And gaze on those tiresome Races!
I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c.
The Races, to me, seem to strike a wrong key,
Mid dreamy delightful diversion;
There isn't much fun seeing men in the sun,
Who suffer from over-exertion!
In sweet idle days, when all love to laze,
Such violent work a disgrace is!
Let's hope we shall see, with me they'll agree,