But fortune is a gay coquette; by fickle fortune, Doolin lost,
Till every one who backed him, soon did find him out a fraud and frost.
I've seen him lose at Punchestown, I've seen him last, at Baldoyle too,
At Fairyhouse I've seen him fall—his colours then were black and blue.
He stood and scratched his head amain, beside the stable door one night;
He had been drinking tints of malt, and felt as he were almost tight.
A race was on to run next day; he totted up his chance to win,
When turning thro' the stable-door, he saw a gentleman within!