April Horse RACE:
OR, THE
Prodigal BAKER,
Beaten in a Horse Race on the Twelfth of April, he having lay'd Four hun-
dred Guineas to Seventeen, which Wager he lost, to the laughing Satis-
faction of the People.
The Tune, O brave Popery.
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YOu Bakers now do you not hear the sad news,
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How one of your Brothers has happen'd to lose
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A Race, which does cause him to fret, grieve and muse:
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O poor Baker now, sorrowful Baker now,
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Four hundred Guineas has lost.
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This Baker got well by the Bread that he sold,
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Who could lay four hundred Guineas in gold,
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Against seventeen; you'd say he was bold:
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O poor Baker now, prodigal Baker now,
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Four hundred Guineas has lost.
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The Wager was laid on an old scrubbed Horse,
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By which he sustained this terrible loss;
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His Guineas are gone without any remorse:
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Oh! the Baker now, sorrowful Baker now,
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Four hundred Guineas has lost.
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It seems he was prodigal, eager and hot,
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And since he has met with so fatal a lot,
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'Twas well if the Money was honestly got:
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Oh! the Baker now, prodigal Baker now,
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Four hundred Guineas has lost.
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Betimes in the Morning the Race was begun,
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From Shoreditch to Ware the old Horse was to run,
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And then back again; it was instantly done:
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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The like of this Wager sure never was seen,
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Full four hundred Guineas against seventeen,
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The Baker he ventur'd; now, what did he mean:
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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This Horse he was loaded with many long Years,
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But ah! how he pranced and prick'd up his Ears,
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In order, to pay off the Baker's Arrears:
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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We need not to grieve if his loss had been more,
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For Bakers this Winter has punished the Poor,
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By raising their Bread, to replenish their store:
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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We make no great question but some of the rest,
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By whom all the Winter the Poor was opprest;
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May, by their own follies, bewray their own Nest;
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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The Gold which he has so unluckily lay'd,
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And lost, if it had been lay'd out of Trade;
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Some Millions of halfpenny Rowls would have made
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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The Bakers of late merry lives they have led,
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Who rowled in Money by raising of Bread,
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But this amongst many is worthily spread:
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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I hope he now has enough of a Race,
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Since there is few or none now that pities his case,
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But e'ry one fliggers and laughs in his Face:
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Oh! the Baker now, etc.
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Four hundred, etc.
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Since he has more Money than many of us,
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And therefore the Baker was proud of his Purse,
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Or else he would never have ventured thus:
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Oh! the Baker now, prodigal Baker now,
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Four hundred Guineas has lost.
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This Money it might have been better imploy'd,
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Then thus to be lost in a Galloping ride;
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But what shall we say, it may pull down his pride:
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Oh! the Baker now, Meal-men and Bakers now,
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Never lay Wagers like him.
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