The CALL to the
RACES
At New-Market.
To the Tune of, To Horse, Brave Boys.
Licensed according to Order.
|
I.
|
TO Horse brave boys to New-Market to horse,
|
you'l lose the Match by longer delaying,
|
The Gelding just now was led over the Coast,
|
I think the Devils in you for staying,
|
Run and endeavour to bubble the sporters,
|
Bets may be recover'd lost at the Groom-Porters;
|
follow, follow, follow, led down by the ditch,
|
Then take the Odds, and then you'l be rich,
|
For I will have Brown-Bay if Blew-Bonnet Ride,
|
I'll hold a Thousand pound on his side Sir,
|
Dragon could scower it, but Dragon is old,
|
He cannot endure it, he cannot he will not,
|
now run it as lately he could,
|
Age, age hath hindr'd his speed Sir,
|
Now, now, now see they come on,
|
see, see, the Horse leads the way,
|
Full three lengths before at the turn of the land,
|
Five Hundred pound upon the Brown-Bay,
|
But a Pox of the Devil I fear we have lost,
|
The Dog the Blew-Bonnet, has run it, (a Murrain light on it)
|
the wrong side the Post,
|
Odds-Bobs was ever such fortune.
|
II.
|
Make hast, make hast, to New-Market away,
|
you idly leave your sport by delaying,
|
The Race will be run e'er the heat of the day,
|
we shall loose all our betts by our staying,
|
Run, Run, and freely your Guineas now venter
|
Upon the Brisk Brown-Bay, whene'er she do's enter
|
Follow, Follow, follow on this side the Ditch,
|
And take most odds if you will be rich,
|
As for me i'll have Sorrel, if Blew-Bonnet ride,
|
And lay you fifty pound on his side, Sir,
|
Sorrel runs swiftest since Dragons grown old,
|
You'll find by and by that he cannot endure it,
|
nor run it as lately he could
|
Years, Years doth hinder his speed, Sir,
|
Now, now, now see they come on,
|
see Sorrel still leads the way,
|
A full furlong before at the Turn of the land,
|
Five Hundred pound 'tis that gets the Day.
|
But fie on that Jockey, I fear I have lost,
|
With ease he had won it, had won it, if he had but run it,
|
On this side the Post,
|
No Man had ever such fortune.
|
III.
|
To Horse, we must not of Fortune complain,
|
nor loose our time in Jockeys dispraising,
|
The Geldings are galloping over the plain,
|
while we stand idle prating and gazing,
|
Run and attempt to retrive all our losses,
|
And never stand railing at fortune and crosses,
|
Follow, Follow, follow, I'll lead on this side,
|
And see if I can once be a guide,
|
'Tis the Brown-Bay I fancy she trouls it apace,
|
I'll hold an hundred on the Race, Sir,
|
Dragon does scour it, but Brown-Bay's before,
|
And holds it, and holds it, and wins it and wins it
|
He runs it, so merrily o'er,
|
I'll hold you now five hundred pound more.
|
But now were undone and our Guineas are lost,
|
The Rogue the Blew-Bonnet, has run it, (a Vengeance light on it)
|
the wrong side the post,
|
I never had such ill fortune.
|
|
|
|
|
|