I like, it is true, in a basswood canoe
To lounge, with a weed incandescent:
To paddle about, there is not a doubt,
I find it uncommonly pleasant!
I love the fresh air, the lunch here and there,
To see pretty toilettes and faces;
But one thing I hate--allow me to state--
The fuss they make over the Races!
I don't care a rap for the Races!--
Mid all the Regatta embraces--
I'm that sort of chap, I don't care a rap,
A rap or a snap for the Races!
I don't care, you know, a bit how they row,
Nor mind about smartness of feather;
If steering is bad, I'm not at all sad,
Nor care if they all swing together!
Oh why do they shout and make such a rout,
When one boat another one chases?
'Tis really too hot to bawl, is it not?
Or bore oneself over the Races!
I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c.
Then the Umpire's boat a nuisance we vote,
It interrupts calm contemplation;
Its discordant tone, and horrid steam moan,
Is death to serene meditation!
The roar of the crowd should not be allowed;
The gun with its fierce fulmination,
Abolish it, pray--'tis fatal, they say,
To pleasant and quiet flirtation!
I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c.
If athletes must pant--I don't say they shan't--
But give them some decent employment;
And let it be clear, they don't interfere
With other folks' quiet enjoyment!
When luncheon you're o'er, tis really a bore--
And I think it a very hard case is--
To have to look up, from páté or cup,
And gaze on those tiresome Races!
I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c.
The Races, to me, seem to strike a wrong key,
Mid dreamy delightful diversion;
There isn't much fun seeing men in the sun,
Who suffer from over-exertion!
In sweet idle days, when all love to laze,
Such violent work a disgrace is!
Let's hope we shall see, with me they'll agree,
And next year abolish the Races!
I don't care a rap for the Races, &c., &c.
KNOW THYSELF!
Miss Featherweight. "I tell you what, Alfred, if you took me for a row in a thing like that I'd scream all the time. Why, he isn't more than half out of the water!"
