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1828.

Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride,
Some well-rouged youth round Astley’s Circus ride
Two stately steeds–standing, with graceful straddle,
Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle,
While to soft tunes–some jigs and some andantes—
He steers around his light-paced Rosinantes.

So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant,
That horseman bold, Lord Anglesea, at present;–
Papist and Protestant the coursers twain,
That lend their necks to his impartial rein,
And round the ring–each honored, as they go,
With equal pressure from his gracious toe–

To the old medley tune, half “Patrick’s Day”
And half “Boyne Water,” take their cantering way,
While Peel, the showman in the middle, cracks
His long-lasht whip to cheer the doubtful hacks.
Ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art!
How blest, if neither steed would bolt or start;–
If Protestant’s old restive tricks were gone,
And Papist’s winkers could be still kept on!
But no, false hopes–not even the great Ducrow
‘Twixt two such steeds could ‘scape an overthrow:
If solar hacks played Phaeton a trick,
What hope, alas, from hackneys lunatic?

If once my Lord his graceful balance loses,
Or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses;
If Peel but gives one extra touch of whip
To Papist’s tail or Protestant’s ear-tip–
That instant ends their glorious horsmanship!
Off bolt the severed steeds, for mischief free.
And down between them plumps Lord Anglesea!