Now for the start, and here they come,
And the hoof-strokes roar like a mighty drum
Beat by a hand unsteady;
They come like a rushing, roaring flood,
Hurrah for the speed of the chester blood!
For Acme is making the pace so good
There are some of ‘em done already.
But round the back she begins to tire,
And a mighty shout goes up: "Crossfire!"
The magpie jacket’s leading;
And Crossfire challenges fierce and bold,
And the lead she’ll have and the lead she’ll hold,
But at length gives way to the black and gold,
Which away to the front is speeding.
Carry them on and keep it up -
A flying race is the Melbourne Cup,
You must race and stay to win it;
And old Commotion, Victoria’s pride,
Now takes the lead with his raking stride,
And a mighty roar goes far and wide -
"There’s only Commotion in it!"
But one draws out from the beaten ruck,
And up on the rails by a piece of luck
He comes in a style that’s clever;
"It’s Trident! Trident! Hurrah for Hales!
Go at ‘em now while their courage fails;"
"Trident! Trident! for New South Wales!"
"The blue and white for ever!"
Under the whip! With the ears flat back,
Under the whip! Though the sinews crack,
No sign of the base white feather;
Stick to it now for your breeding’s sake,
Stick to it now though your hearts should break,
While the yells and roars make the grandstand shake,
They come down the straight together.
Trident slowly forges ahead,
The fierce whips cut and the spurs are red,
The pace is undiminished;
Now for the panics that never fail!
But many a backers face grows pale
As old Commotion swings his tail
And swerves - and the Cup is finished.
And now in my dream it all comes back:
I bet my coin on the Sydney track,
A million I’ve won, no question!
Give me my money, you hook nosed hog!
Give me my money, book making dog!
But he disappears in a kind of fog,
And I wake with "the indigestion".
