"Going down?" Not this year. Bin laid up with the Flu, like my betters, and still feel a little bit squiffy,
But when I am fit and 'ave just arf a charnce of a run down to Epsom, I'm on in a jiffy.
Lor! 'ow many times 'ave I druv to the Derby, in all sorts o' cumpny, 'igh, low, and jest mejum;
And seen some queer games, too! Well, say wot yer like, it's a 'oliday bust, and it breaks the year's tejum.
Tejum's the doose, if you arsk me; and dulness does hoceans more 'arm than the pious ones reckon.
It's jest when mernotony gives yer the 'ump that you're open to any bad biz as may beckon.
Grey flatting constant will set you a longing to paint the town red, jest by way o' variety;
Leastways, it's so with a Cabby, I know, and no doubt it's the same in more toppin' Socierty.
Ah! I remember old Kennington toll-gate afore 'twos removed Oh! the jams and the crushes!
Once tooled down a fine F. O. clerk, young and smart, with the pootiest parcel o' blue silk and blushes,
'Amper O. K., Larrynargers had libbitum, fizz up to Dick, and a somethink poetic,
Like laylocks, laburnums and mayblossom in it, as made me—a mere nipper then—symperthetic.
To see 'im a whisking the dust from 'er bonnet, arf tender, arf sorcy, an' 'er a-purtending,
To bridle up proud and becoming, was pooty. Whose money, thought I, my young nabs are you spending.
'E parted like water, and backed 'em a buster; and blowed if I shouldn't with them heyes upon me.
Dunno if 'e spotted a winner. I didn't! But 'ow they enjoyed it! 'Er smile reglar won me.
When young 'uns is sweet 'uns, and sweet 'uns high-bred 'uns, it fetches me, somehow, to see 'em philander,
They do it so dainty, an' sorter respekful. Bill Boger, 'e says I'm a cackling old gander.
All right, bilious Billy! You've druv lovey-doveys of all sorts and ranks till you're verjuice an' sorrel,
But these weren't no Monday Bank 'Oliday Mashers, or shop-sweet-hearts out on the scoop, that's a moral.
Well, close to the Stand a old heagle-beaked buffer was doing the nice to a dragful of toppers,
And one 'awk-nosed duchess, as yaller as mustard, with hoptics suggestive of bile or 'ot coppers,
Dropped lamps on our little turn-out. Oh, Jemimer! I'm sure red-'ot needles was simply not in it,
A savage old Pater, a jealous Miss Goldbags, and—hus! Oh! I twigged the whole game in a minnit.
Quite spiled my smart cab as a dove-cote that day. Druv 'ome rather late, and a trifle less cheerful,
Him wondrous perlite, but,—well, wandering-eyed, an' 'er with the least little touch of the tearful.
For me, I'd the 'ump, though 'e paid like a prince. Didn't see them again not till twenty year after;
And then—well it gave me the doldrums somehow, though Bill Boger declared that it moved 'im to laughter.
'E druv me and Bill to the Derby! We'd clubbed for a friendly drag down, Bill an' me, and some others,
And poor young F. O. was our whip! 'E'd gone badgery slightly, along not of years but of bothers.
I knew 'im at once, and I think 'e twigged me; but 'e made ne'er a sign, only looked grave and civil.
And when Billy stood 'im a drink, 'e bowed low, just to 'ide what I guess was a flash o' the devil.
I never let on, but addressed 'im respekful, and jest touched my 'at when we parted. Says Billy,
"You're mighty perlite on the suddent, young Snapshotter!" Well, I may be sentimental or silly,
But I often spekylate 'ow them two fare, and if I'll ever see them again; if they're married.
I've tooled lots o' pairs to the Derby since then, and I tell you some curious couples I've carried.
A brace o' young Sheenies as slep all the way, a' Eathen Chinee with a helderly lydy
Distributin' tracks; two hevangelist singers, as plump as Jem Smith, and as black as Man Friday;
But if I possessed this 'ere clarevoyong power I'd try it upon Cremorne's year and that couple.
Wich makes Billy say I'm as young as I was then, at 'art—though I mayn't be so nimble and supple.