A Derby Ditty. Mud in my eyes, and mud on my cheek, My hat that drips, and my boots that leak, And a voice so hoarse that I scarce can speak-- That’s how I went to the Derby. A fight with a man at the station-gate, Apoplexy through being late, A score in a carriage that seated eight-- That’s how I went to the Derby. Never a cab for love or oof, The dye running out of my waterproof, Through chalk and water I pad the hoof-- That’s how I got to the Derby. Smashed and crushed in a crowded pen, Bruised and battered by bustling men, A lamb in a roaring lion’s den-- That’s how I saw the Derby. “The favourite’s beat!” the millions cry, The next umbrella extracts my eye, And I’ve laid two thousand to one with Fry-- That’s how I liked the Derby. I’ve lost my temper, I’ve lost my tin; Where is my watch--my chain--my pin? And my boots are letting the water in-- That’s how I left the Derby. A couple of doctors by my bed, A block of ice on my burning head, And somehow I wish that I was dead-- That’s what came of the Derby. The brokers in on a bill of sale, Pills and potions of no avail, A jerry-built tomb with a rusty rail-- That’s what came of the Derby. R.I.P. on a soot-grimed stone, And under my name these words alone: “The biggest juggins that ever was known” Has gone where’s there no more Derby. Shall we Remember? Ah, love, my love, as hand in hand, This glorious autumn weather, We stroll along the golden strand, And watch the ships together, We murmur vows we mean to keep, But by next year’s September, How many made beside the deep Shall We Remember? Old love is dead; new love awakes, And hearts are playthings ever; Though change may mar, ’tis change that makes; Time every link can sever; Though dull love’s fire, to glowing gold We fan the dying ember-- Yet in new love, the love of old Shall We Remember? The race of life is to the strong, The pace grows fast and faster, The leader takes the field along, And brings the weak disaster. The prize is won! Yet what is fame? A rushlight in November. In twelve short months the victor’s name Shall We Remember? Paradise and the Sinner. (THE NEW VERSION.) One morn a sinner at the gate Of Eden stood disconsolate, And as he pondered on the things In life he’d done, his wild oats sowing, He felt the pang that conscience brings, And both his cheeks with shame were glowing.