THE RECOLLECTIONS OF A LONDON CAB-HORSE.
I remember a soft, green pasture,Where cowslips and clover grew,And my mother grazing near me:It seems almost too good to be true:I wish I could be there once again,In that same, sweet scented field,Sheltering from the rainstorm’Neath the oak trees’ leafy shield,Standing beside my mother,A colt without fear or care,Instead of pacing the slippery streetsIn the lamplight’s lurid glare.It’s all right for you that have neverBeen aught but what I am now,In a night cab, in foggy London;I would rather be yoked to a plough,Then at least I should be in the open,And see the fields once more,And listen to lark and throstle,Instead of the city’s roar.I remember they came to break me,I was only a yearling then,And they taught me to wear a saddle,And I studied the ways of men;I was put in a roomy loose box,And galloped each break of day,And my master he patted my shoulder,And said I would pay my way:They said I was like my father,He had won the Ascot cupFrom a field of seventeen horses,With eight stone eleven up.And the first time I went to a racecourse.Oh, how I kicked with pride!When they backed me to beat the favourite,And engaged a crack jockey to ride:My coat it was shining like satin,And I knew not the meaning of shame,I was down on the card as “Sir Lancelot”:And now I have got no name.There were nineteen others running,Two-year-olds all same as I,Kicking and plunging and bucking,But when the flag fell we did fly,Right down the straight five furlongsThundered our hoofs like surf,And the jockey baptized me with whalebone“A member of ‘England’s Turf’”:How I struggled to pass the others,Neck to neck, head to head, we flew,A medley of flying colours,And I carried gold and blue:The jockey bent low on my withers,“Now is the time,” he said,And I made one mighty effort,And beat all the rest, by a head.How I loved the cheers and the shouting,I knew well as they, I had won,And I walked proudly back to the paddock,For I knew my career had begun.The next year began like sunshine,So happy was I, and proud,For I was to run in the DerbyTo startle the Epsom crowd.They tried me with old Stargazer,A good ’un, as hard as flint,And I made him a hack at the distance,So they backed me to win a mint.They took me down to EpsomOn the 31st of May,And no king on his throne was more happyThan I, on that Derby Day.For the air is full of memoriesOn Epsom’s sunny down,The down where great Persimmon,Bendor and Common, Bluegown,Harvester and St. Gatien,Ormonde who conquered the Bard,Musjid and West Australian,All fought for the Blue Ribbon,hard—Would my name, I wondered, be writtenWith theirs on th’ Immortal Scroll?And would’nt my mother be happyWhen she heard of her famous foal.I remember as clear as a pictureThe start for that famous race,I shot to the front like an arrow,Making a desperate pace,In the straight another horse joined me,Galloping, stride for stride,Whing went the whip thro’ the air to myflank—Then I felt something go, inside,Try as I might, the othersShot past me, one by one,I finished tenth in eleven,And my racing career was done.I was sold to a man, who sold meTo another, who sold me again,From master to master, man to man,And now I am here, in the rain,In a night-cab in foggy London,’Mid the lamplight’s luridglare——What’s that, “Covent Garden?”Good-bye—here’s another fare.
I remember a soft, green pasture,Where cowslips and clover grew,And my mother grazing near me:It seems almost too good to be true:I wish I could be there once again,In that same, sweet scented field,Sheltering from the rainstorm’Neath the oak trees’ leafy shield,Standing beside my mother,A colt without fear or care,Instead of pacing the slippery streetsIn the lamplight’s lurid glare.It’s all right for you that have neverBeen aught but what I am now,In a night cab, in foggy London;I would rather be yoked to a plough,Then at least I should be in the open,And see the fields once more,And listen to lark and throstle,Instead of the city’s roar.I remember they came to break me,I was only a yearling then,And they taught me to wear a saddle,And I studied the ways of men;I was put in a roomy loose box,And galloped each break of day,And my master he patted my shoulder,And said I would pay my way:They said I was like my father,He had won the Ascot cupFrom a field of seventeen horses,With eight stone eleven up.And the first time I went to a racecourse.Oh, how I kicked with pride!When they backed me to beat the favourite,And engaged a crack jockey to ride:My coat it was shining like satin,And I knew not the meaning of shame,I was down on the card as “Sir Lancelot”:And now I have got no name.There were nineteen others running,Two-year-olds all same as I,Kicking and plunging and bucking,But when the flag fell we did fly,Right down the straight five furlongsThundered our hoofs like surf,And the jockey baptized me with whalebone“A member of ‘England’s Turf’”:How I struggled to pass the others,Neck to neck, head to head, we flew,A medley of flying colours,And I carried gold and blue:The jockey bent low on my withers,“Now is the time,” he said,And I made one mighty effort,And beat all the rest, by a head.How I loved the cheers and the shouting,I knew well as they, I had won,And I walked proudly back to the paddock,For I knew my career had begun.The next year began like sunshine,So happy was I, and proud,For I was to run in the DerbyTo startle the Epsom crowd.They tried me with old Stargazer,A good ’un, as hard as flint,And I made him a hack at the distance,So they backed me to win a mint.They took me down to EpsomOn the 31st of May,And no king on his throne was more happyThan I, on that Derby Day.For the air is full of memoriesOn Epsom’s sunny down,The down where great Persimmon,Bendor and Common, Bluegown,Harvester and St. Gatien,Ormonde who conquered the Bard,Musjid and West Australian,All fought for the Blue Ribbon,hard—Would my name, I wondered, be writtenWith theirs on th’ Immortal Scroll?And would’nt my mother be happyWhen she heard of her famous foal.I remember as clear as a pictureThe start for that famous race,I shot to the front like an arrow,Making a desperate pace,In the straight another horse joined me,Galloping, stride for stride,Whing went the whip thro’ the air to myflank—Then I felt something go, inside,Try as I might, the othersShot past me, one by one,I finished tenth in eleven,And my racing career was done.I was sold to a man, who sold meTo another, who sold me again,From master to master, man to man,And now I am here, in the rain,In a night-cab in foggy London,’Mid the lamplight’s luridglare——What’s that, “Covent Garden?”Good-bye—here’s another fare.
I remember a soft, green pasture,Where cowslips and clover grew,And my mother grazing near me:It seems almost too good to be true:I wish I could be there once again,In that same, sweet scented field,Sheltering from the rainstorm’Neath the oak trees’ leafy shield,Standing beside my mother,A colt without fear or care,Instead of pacing the slippery streetsIn the lamplight’s lurid glare.It’s all right for you that have neverBeen aught but what I am now,In a night cab, in foggy London;I would rather be yoked to a plough,Then at least I should be in the open,And see the fields once more,And listen to lark and throstle,Instead of the city’s roar.
I remember a soft, green pasture,
Where cowslips and clover grew,
And my mother grazing near me:
It seems almost too good to be true:
I wish I could be there once again,
In that same, sweet scented field,
Sheltering from the rainstorm
’Neath the oak trees’ leafy shield,
Standing beside my mother,
A colt without fear or care,
Instead of pacing the slippery streets
In the lamplight’s lurid glare.
It’s all right for you that have never
Been aught but what I am now,
In a night cab, in foggy London;
I would rather be yoked to a plough,
Then at least I should be in the open,
And see the fields once more,
And listen to lark and throstle,
Instead of the city’s roar.
I remember they came to break me,I was only a yearling then,And they taught me to wear a saddle,And I studied the ways of men;I was put in a roomy loose box,And galloped each break of day,And my master he patted my shoulder,And said I would pay my way:They said I was like my father,He had won the Ascot cupFrom a field of seventeen horses,With eight stone eleven up.
I remember they came to break me,
I was only a yearling then,
And they taught me to wear a saddle,
And I studied the ways of men;
I was put in a roomy loose box,
And galloped each break of day,
And my master he patted my shoulder,
And said I would pay my way:
They said I was like my father,
He had won the Ascot cup
From a field of seventeen horses,
With eight stone eleven up.
And the first time I went to a racecourse.Oh, how I kicked with pride!When they backed me to beat the favourite,And engaged a crack jockey to ride:My coat it was shining like satin,And I knew not the meaning of shame,I was down on the card as “Sir Lancelot”:And now I have got no name.There were nineteen others running,Two-year-olds all same as I,Kicking and plunging and bucking,But when the flag fell we did fly,Right down the straight five furlongsThundered our hoofs like surf,And the jockey baptized me with whalebone“A member of ‘England’s Turf’”:
And the first time I went to a racecourse.
Oh, how I kicked with pride!
When they backed me to beat the favourite,
And engaged a crack jockey to ride:
My coat it was shining like satin,
And I knew not the meaning of shame,
I was down on the card as “Sir Lancelot”:
And now I have got no name.
There were nineteen others running,
Two-year-olds all same as I,
Kicking and plunging and bucking,
But when the flag fell we did fly,
Right down the straight five furlongs
Thundered our hoofs like surf,
And the jockey baptized me with whalebone
“A member of ‘England’s Turf’”:
How I struggled to pass the others,Neck to neck, head to head, we flew,A medley of flying colours,And I carried gold and blue:The jockey bent low on my withers,“Now is the time,” he said,And I made one mighty effort,And beat all the rest, by a head.How I loved the cheers and the shouting,I knew well as they, I had won,And I walked proudly back to the paddock,For I knew my career had begun.
How I struggled to pass the others,
Neck to neck, head to head, we flew,
A medley of flying colours,
And I carried gold and blue:
The jockey bent low on my withers,
“Now is the time,” he said,
And I made one mighty effort,
And beat all the rest, by a head.
How I loved the cheers and the shouting,
I knew well as they, I had won,
And I walked proudly back to the paddock,
For I knew my career had begun.
The next year began like sunshine,So happy was I, and proud,For I was to run in the DerbyTo startle the Epsom crowd.They tried me with old Stargazer,A good ’un, as hard as flint,And I made him a hack at the distance,So they backed me to win a mint.They took me down to EpsomOn the 31st of May,And no king on his throne was more happyThan I, on that Derby Day.For the air is full of memoriesOn Epsom’s sunny down,The down where great Persimmon,Bendor and Common, Bluegown,Harvester and St. Gatien,Ormonde who conquered the Bard,Musjid and West Australian,All fought for the Blue Ribbon,hard—
The next year began like sunshine,
So happy was I, and proud,
For I was to run in the Derby
To startle the Epsom crowd.
They tried me with old Stargazer,
A good ’un, as hard as flint,
And I made him a hack at the distance,
So they backed me to win a mint.
They took me down to Epsom
On the 31st of May,
And no king on his throne was more happy
Than I, on that Derby Day.
For the air is full of memories
On Epsom’s sunny down,
The down where great Persimmon,
Bendor and Common, Bluegown,
Harvester and St. Gatien,
Ormonde who conquered the Bard,
Musjid and West Australian,
All fought for the Blue Ribbon,hard—
Would my name, I wondered, be writtenWith theirs on th’ Immortal Scroll?And would’nt my mother be happyWhen she heard of her famous foal.I remember as clear as a pictureThe start for that famous race,I shot to the front like an arrow,Making a desperate pace,In the straight another horse joined me,Galloping, stride for stride,Whing went the whip thro’ the air to myflank—Then I felt something go, inside,Try as I might, the othersShot past me, one by one,I finished tenth in eleven,And my racing career was done.I was sold to a man, who sold meTo another, who sold me again,From master to master, man to man,And now I am here, in the rain,In a night-cab in foggy London,’Mid the lamplight’s luridglare——What’s that, “Covent Garden?”Good-bye—here’s another fare.
Would my name, I wondered, be written
With theirs on th’ Immortal Scroll?
And would’nt my mother be happy
When she heard of her famous foal.
I remember as clear as a picture
The start for that famous race,
I shot to the front like an arrow,
Making a desperate pace,
In the straight another horse joined me,
Galloping, stride for stride,
Whing went the whip thro’ the air to myflank—
Then I felt something go, inside,
Try as I might, the others
Shot past me, one by one,
I finished tenth in eleven,
And my racing career was done.
I was sold to a man, who sold me
To another, who sold me again,
From master to master, man to man,
And now I am here, in the rain,
In a night-cab in foggy London,
’Mid the lamplight’s luridglare—
—What’s that, “Covent Garden?”
Good-bye—here’s another fare.
Title or description