He slated this nag as a peacocky brute,
Whose utter collapse they've been building their books on.
How now, my spry veteran? Only a boy
On a three-legged crock? Well, I own you are older,
And watching your riding's a thing to enjoy;
There isn't a Jock who is defter and bolder;
Your power, authority, eloquence—yes,
For your gift of the gab is a caution—are splendid;
But—the youngster may teach you a lesson, I guess,
As to judgment of pace ere the contest is ended.