The Man from Snowy River. A. B. Paterson

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Our New Horse

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      The boys had come back from the races

       All silent and down on their luck;

       They'd backed 'em, straight out and for places,

       But never a winner they struck.

       They lost their good money on Slogan,

       And fell, most uncommonly flat,

       When Partner, the pride of the Bogan,

       Was beaten by Aristocrat.

       And one said, 'I move that instanter

       We sell out our horses and quit,

       The brutes ought to win in a canter,

       Such trials they do when they're fit.

       The last one they ran was a snorter—

       A gallop to gladden one's heart—

       Two-twelve for a mile and a quarter,

       And finished as straight as a dart.

       'And then when I think that they're ready

       To win me a nice little swag,

       They are licked like the veriest neddy—

       They're licked from the fall of the flag.

       The mare held her own to the stable,

       She died out to nothing at that,

       And Partner he never seemed able

       To pace it with Aristocrat.

       'And times have been bad, and the seasons

       Don't promise to be of the best;

       In short, boys, there's plenty of reasons

       For giving the racing a rest.

       The mare can be kept on the station—

       Her breeding is good as can be—

       But Partner, his next destination

       Is rather a trouble to me.

       'We can't sell him here, for they know him

       As well as the clerk of the course;

       He's raced and won races till, blow him,

       He's done as a handicap horse.

       A jady, uncertain performer,

       They weight him right out of the hunt,