What confusion, but hear!—“I’ll bet you, Sir!”—“Done, done!”
A thousand strange murmurs resound far and near,
Lords, hawkers, and jockeys, assail the tired ear;
While, with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest,
Pamper’d, prancing, and pleased, his head touching his breast,
Scarcely snuffing the air, he’s so proud and elate,
The high-mettled racer first starts for the plate.
Next Reynard’s turn’d out, and o’er hedge and ditch rush
Hounds, horses, and huntsmen, all hard at his brush;
They run him at length, and they have him at bay,