Volume 100 / Act 2 — KEPT IN THE STABLE.
Reading edition
Head Groom B-lf-r loq.:—
Kept in! Yes, by thunder! Be 't prudence or blunder, Gov's fondness for Tithe, or bad weather, or what, You're kept in the stable, though fit, ay, and able To lead the whole field and to win by a lot. A hunter I never bestrode half as clever! Tithe? Pooh! He's not in it, my beauty, with you. You've breed, style, and mettle, and look in rare fettle. If I had to settle, you know what I'd do!
These gentlemen-riders deem all are outsiders
Save them: as if gent ever made A 1 jock!
Such matters. I'll warrant he sat like a rock,
And went like a blizzard. Yes, beauty, it is hard
To eat off your head in the stable like this.
Too long you have idled; but wait till you're bridled!
The hunt of the season I swear you won't miss,
It has been hard weather, although, beauty, whether 'Tis that altogether your chance that postponed, Or whether Boss SOLLY committed a folly— No matter! A comelier crack he ne'er owned, Although 'tis I say it who shouldn't. The way it Has snowed and has frozen may be his excuse; But when you're once started, deer-limbed, lion-hearted, I warrant, my beauty, you'll go like the deuce.
"A lean head and fiery, strong quarters, and wiry, A loin rather light, but a shoulder superb," That's GORDON's description of Iseult. (All whip shun When riding such rattlers, and trust to the curb.) That mare was your sort, lad. I guess there'll be sport, lad, When you make strong running, and near the last jump. And you, when extended, look "bloodlike and splendid." Ah! poor LINDSAY GORDON was sportsman and trump.
I see your sleek muzzle in front! It will puzzle Your critics, my boy, to pick holes in you then: There's howling "HISTORICUS,"—he's but a sorry cuss! WEG, too, that grandest of all grand old men; He's ridden some races; of chances and paces, Of crocks versus cracks he did ought to be judge. He sees you are speedy; when MORLEY sneers "Weedy," Or LAB doubts your staying, WEG knows it's all fudge!
We're biding our time, lad. Your fettle is prime, lad; Though we're frost-bound now, open weather must come, At least after Easter; and, beauty, when we stir. And forge to the front, lad, we'll just make things hum. In spite of much ruction concerning Obstruction, I wish—in a whisper—we'd started before, And, forcing the running, discarding all cunning, Romped in—as we will—'midst a general roar!
MORE IBSENITY.
Ghosts at the Royalty. "Alas, poor Ghosts!" A shady piece. "No money taken at the doors" on this occasion, which is making a virtue of necessity. This being the case, Ghosts was, and if played again will, be witnessed by an audience mainly composed of "Deadheads." Lively this. The Critics have spoken out strongly, and those interested in this Ibsenity should read the criticisms presumably by Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT in The Telegraph and Mr. MOY THOMAS in The Daily News. Stingers; but as outspoken as they are true, and just in all their dealings with this Ibsenian craze.
"Les Oiseaux."—Mrs. RAM says she pities any unfortunate man whose wife has a fearful temper. She knows one such husband who quite quails before his wife, "and I'm not surprised," adds Mrs. R., "for I know her, and she's a regular ptarmigan."
The Coming Census.—CARLYLE said, "The population of the British Empire is composed of so many millions, mostly fools." Will the Census be taken on the First of April?
KEPT IN THE STABLE.
HEAD GROOM. "AH, MY BEAUTY!—YOU HAVEN'T HAD MUCH CHANCE YET—BUT WE SHALL HAVE SOME OPEN WEATHER
AFTER EASTER
!"