HIM going to ride for us! HIM — with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
Amateur! do n't he just look it — it's twenty to one on a fall.
Boss must be gone off his head to be sending our steeplechase crack
Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back.
Ride! Do n't tell ME he can ride. With his pants just as loose as balloons,
How can he sit on his horse? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons;
Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course.
Fall! why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse.
Yessir! the‘ orse is all ready — I wish you'd have rode him before;
Nothing like knowing your‘ orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore;
Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun —
Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun.
Oh, he can jump‘ em all right, sir, you make no mistake,‘ e's a toff;
Clouts‘ em in earnest, too, sometimes, you mind that he do n't clout you off —
Do n't seem to mind how he hits‘ em, his shins is as hard as a nail,
Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail.
All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes,
Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes;
Do n't let him run himself out — you can lie third or fourth in the race —
Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace.