Andrew Barton Paterson (Эндрю Бартон Патерсон)
The Wargeilah Handicap
Wargeilah town is very small, There’s no cathedral nor a club, In fact the township, all in all, Is just one unpretentious pub; And there, from all the stations round, The local sportsmen can be found. The sportsmen of Wargeilah-side Are very few but very fit; There’s scarcely any sport been tried But they can hold their own at it; In fact, to search their records o’er, They hold their own and something more. The precincts of Wargeilah town An English new-chum did infest: He used to wander up and down In baggy English breeches drest; His mental aspect seemed to be Just stolid self-sufficiency. The local sportsmen vainly sought His tranquil calm to counteract By urging that he should be brought Within the Noxious Creatures Act. ”Nay, harm him not,” said one more wise, ”He is a blessing in disguise! ”You see, he wants to buy a horse, To ride, and hunt, and steeplechase, And carry ladies, too, of course, And pull a cart, and win a race. Good gracious! he must be a flat To think he’ll get a horse like that! ”But, since he has so little sense And such a lot of cash to burn, We’ll sell him some experience By which alone a fool can learn. Suppose we let him have The Trap To win Wargeilah Handicap!” And her, I must explain to you That round about Wargeilah run There lived a very aged screw Whose days of brilliancy were done. A grand old warrior in his prime -- But age will beat us any time. A trooper’s horse in seasons past He did his share to keep the peace, But took to falling, and at last Was cast for age from the Police. A publican at Conroy’s Gap Bought him and christened him The Trap. When grass was good and horses dear, He changed his owner now and then At prices ranging somewhere near The neighbourhood of two-pound-ten: And manfully he earned his keep By yarding cows and ration sheep. They brought him in from off the grass And fed and groomed the old horse up; His coat began to shine like glass -- You’d think he’d win the Melbourne Cup. And when they’d got him fat and flash They asked the new chum -- fifty -- cash! And when he said the price was high, Their indignation knew no bounds. They said, ”It’s seldom you can buy A horse like that for fifty pounds! We’ll refund twenty if The Trap Should fail to win the handicap!” The deed was done, the price was paid, The new-chum put the horse in train. The local sports were much afraid That he would sad experience gain By racing with some shearer’s hack, Who’d beat him half-way round the track. So, on this guileless English spark They did most fervently impress That he must keep the matter dark, And not let any person guess That he was purchasing The Trap To win Wargeilah Handicap. They spoke of ”spielers from the Bland”, And ”champions from the Castlereagh”, And gave the youth to understand That all of these would stop away, And spoil the race, if they should hear That they had got The Trap to fear. ”Keep dark! They’ll muster thick as flies When once the news gets sent around We’re giving such a splendid prize -- A Snowdon horse worth fifty pound! They’ll come right in from Dandaloo, And find -- that it’s a gift for you!” The race came on -- with no display Nor any calling of the card, But round about the pub all day A crowd of shearers, drinking hard, And using language in a strain ’Twere flattery to call profane. Our hero, dressed in silk attire -- Blue jacket and scarlet cap -- With boots that shone like flames of fire, Now did his canter on The Trap, And walked him up and round about, Until other steeds came out. He eyed them with a haughty look, But saw a sight that caught his breath! It was Ah John! the Chinee cook! In boots and breeches! pale as death! Tied with a rope, like any sack, Upon a piebald pony’s back! The next, a colt -- all mud and burrs, Half-broken, with a black boy up, Who said, ”You gim’me pair o’ spurs, I win the bloomin’ Melbourne Cup!” These two were to oppose The Trap For the Wargeilah Handicap! They’re off! The colt whipped down his head, And humped his back, and gave a squeal, And bucked into the drinking shed, Revolving like a Catherine wheel! Men ran like rats! The atmosphere Was filled with oaths and pints of beer! But up the course the bold Ah John Beside The Trap raced neck and neck: The boys had tied him firmly on, Which ultimately proved his wreck; The saddle turned, and, like a clown, He rode some distance upside-down. His legs around the horse were tied, His feet towards the heavens were spread, He swung and bumped at every stride And ploughed the ground up with his head! And when they rescued him, The Trap Had won Wargeilah Handicap! And no enquiries we could make Could tell by what false statements swayed Ah John was led to undertake A task so foreign to his trade! He only smiled and said, ”Hoo Ki! I stop topside, I win all li’!” But never in Wargeilah Town Was heard so eloquent a cheer As when the President came down, And toasted, in Colonial beer, ”The finest rider on the course! The winner of the Snowdon Horse! ”You go and get your prize,” he said; ”He’s with a wild mob, somewhere round The mountains near the Watershed; He’s honestly worth fifty pound -- A noble horse, indeed, to win, But none of us can run him in! ”We’ve chased him poor, we’ve chased him fat, We’ve run him till our horses dropped; But by such obstacles as that A man like you will not be stopped; You’ll go and yard him any day, So here’s your health! Hooray! Hooray!” The day wound up with booze and blow And fights till all were well content. But of the new-chum all I know Is shown by this advertisement -- ”For sale, the well-known racehorse Trap. He won Wargeilah Handicap!”
Andrew Barton Paterson’s other poems:
949
