A DERBY BALLAD

There’s a question which has worried me for days;
At breakfast time there is no peace for me;
They serve it with my simple chop at luncheon,
It lurks amid the muffins during tea.
When I ask them for the butter,
One will pass a knife, and mutter:
“I say, old chap, what’s going to win the Derby?”

I’ve a bosom friend who’s very fond of snooker,
On my private table he delights to play;
He selects my special cue, and with an air of
A John Roberts starts to put his pal away.
When one night, this kindly fellow
Tore the cloth and fluked a yellow,
He said: “Good shot! What’s going to win the Derby?”

As a Yeoman I record my admiration
For our Sergeant-Major, who’s the best of men,
Till he gets you on the Circle, mounted drilling—
Well, his language isn’t parliamentary then!
When your nag becomes too hasty,
He will yell in accents tasty:
“D’ye think you’re on Bayardo in the Derby?”

My barber is a sort of priceless treasure,
An artist in his own tonsorial way,
But his agitation is, alas, apparent
When I visit him the morn of Derby Day.
As my eye he fills with lather He says:
“Yes, sir, I rather Hope to get away in time to see the Derby!”

When the evening shades have fallen on the lea,
With Mary I go strolling for awhile.
We wander till the moon is nicely clouded;
Then thankfully we rest upon a stile.
But when I attempt to kiss her
She just murmurs as I miss her:
“I wonder, John, what’s going to win Derby?”

When, finally, the tapes fly up at Epsom,
That question still will rankle in my mind.
Will the favourite bring my quarter’s rent home safely,
Or Fate be, just as usual, unkind?
Ah, it gives me indigestion
Does this one Eternal Question—
But, p’raps you know—What’s going to win the Derby?

J. M. STACY.

Modern Man – Saturday 29 May 1909