And steadied the pedals, then took a deep breath,
Clenched my teeth, gained a yard, as we flew down the track,
Till the shouts told me plainly I’d beaten the “crack.”
And all I remember, is friends flocking round,
Who bore us both shoulder high then off the ground,
And the club all en masse cheered this record of mine,
And my health was the pretext for bumpers of wine.
And the fellows all voted three cheers from the field,
For the victor and vanquished, who fought for the shield.
W. H. Smith.