Fat horned beasts now line our streets,
Which Aldermen were wont to pace on;
And oxen low, and lambkins bleat,
And all for Stockton’s commendation[73].
Our races too deserve a tune,
The northern sportsmen all prefer ’em,
For Dainty Davy here did run
Much better then at York or Durham.
O ’twould take up a swingeing volume,
To sing at large our reputation;