An Original Collection of Songs sung at the Theatres Royal, Public Concerts &c. &c. By W. T. Moncrieff |
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ASCOT RACES. |
 | An Original Collection of Songs |  |
ASCOT RACES.
With spirits gay I'll mount my nag, since all are in their places,
So gaily drest, in Sunday best, bang up for Ascot Races—
Yet ere I go, I think I'll shew, we're but the fashion gracing,
For high and low, and belle and beau, and all the world are racing.
Some race the right road, some the wrong some crooked, and some level—
The Parson races to the sky, the Lawyer to the Devil.
So gaily drest, in Sunday best, bang up for Ascot Races—
Yet ere I go, I think I'll shew, we're but the fashion gracing,
For high and low, and belle and beau, and all the world are racing.
Some race the right road, some the wrong some crooked, and some level—
The Parson races to the sky, the Lawyer to the Devil.
Young Ladies still race after dress, their lovers, and the fashion,
While young men they race after them, and often madly dash on!
The Buck runs after curricles, low waists, and high shirt collars—
The Tailor races after him, and soon the Bailiff follows.
Some men race after health, and some race after pleasures funny,
While other men race after fame, but all race after money!
While young men they race after them, and often madly dash on!
The Buck runs after curricles, low waists, and high shirt collars—
The Tailor races after him, and soon the Bailiff follows.
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While other men race after fame, but all race after money!
The Doctor races after fees, in very many cases,
And Death, and Mr. Sexton, always follow on his traces—
The British Soldiers rrce the foe, who always run before them—
And Singers often run away for Audience to encore 'em!
Then to the Races now I'll race—zounds, I've no brains about me!
For, while that I've been singing here, they have rac'd off without me!
And Death, and Mr. Sexton, always follow on his traces—
The British Soldiers rrce the foe, who always run before them—
And Singers often run away for Audience to encore 'em!
Then to the Races now I'll race—zounds, I've no brains about me!
For, while that I've been singing here, they have rac'd off without me!
| An Original Collection of Songs | |