When they could lay hidle, fair licks me. But, there, hevery one to 'is tryde!
A dust-coat, a white 'at, a field-glass, a landau and lashings o' fizz,
At Hascot would suit me fur better. The old sport o' kings is good biz,
With shekels, and luck, like Lord Rosebery! Scissors! I do 'ate a Rad.
But a sportsman, as pulls off two Derbies, wy 'ang it, 'e carn't be no Cad.
If Primrose would only turn Primroser, wot a fair topper he'd be!
Wot can be 'is little gyme, Charlie, to foller old W. G.?
(I don't mean the cricketer this time.) That Liberal lot ain't no clarss,
With a lot o' tag-rag they carn't hold, and a lot o' bad Bills they carn't parss.
The blot on this Season is Parlyment. Wy don't they 'urry it up,