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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339865" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Part III: Credat Judaeus Apella</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dear Bell,—I enclose what you ask in a letter,<br>A short rhyme at random, no more and no less,<br>And you may insert it, for want of a better<br>Or leave it, it doesn't much matter, I guess ;<br>And as for a tip, why, there isn't much in it,<br>I may hit the right nail, but first, I declare,<br>I haven't a notion what's going to win it<br>(The Champion, I mean), and what's more, I don't care.<br>Imprimis, there's Cowra—few nags can go quicker<br>Than she can—and Smith takes his oath she can fly ;<br>While Brown, Jones, and Robinson swear she's a sticker,<br>But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.<br> <br>There's old Volunteer, I'd be sorry to sneer<br>At his chance ; he'll be there, if he goes at the rate<br>He went at last year, when a customer queer,<br>Johnny Higgerson, fancied him lock'd in the straight.<br>I've heard that the old horse has never been fitter,<br>I've heard all performances past he'll outvie ;<br>He may gallop a docker, and finish a splitter,<br>But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.<br> <br>I know what they say, sir, 'The Hook' he can stay, sir,<br>And stick to his work like a sleuth-hound or beagle ;<br>He stays 'with a hook,' and he sticks in the clay, sir,<br>I'd rather, for choice, pop my money on Seagull ;<br>I'm told that the Sydney division will rue, sir,<br>Their rashness in front of the stand when they spy,<br>With a clear lead, the white jacket spotted with blue, sir,<br>But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.<br> <br>There's The Barb—you may talk of your flyers and stayers,<br>All bosh—when he strips you can see his eye range<br>Round his rivals, with much the same look as Tom Sayers<br>Once wore when he faced the big novice, Bill Bainge.<br>Like Stow, at our hustings, confronting the hisses<br>Of roughs, with his queer Mephistopheles' smile ;<br>Like Baker, or Baker's more wonderful Mrs.,<br>The terror of blacks at the source of the Nile ;<br>Like Triton 'mid minnows ; like hawk among chickens ;<br>Like—anything better than everything else ;<br>He stands at the post. Now they're off ! the plot thickens !<br>Quoth Stanley to Davis, 'How is your pulse ?'<br>He skims o'er the smooth turf, he scuds through the mire,<br>He waits with them, passes them, bids them good-bye !<br>Two miles and three-quarters, cries Filgate, 'He'll tire.'<br>But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.<br> <br>Lest my tale should come true, let me give you fair warning,<br>You may 'shout' some cheroots, if you like, no champagne<br>For this child—'Oh ! think of my head in the morning,'<br>Old chap, you don't get me on that lay again.<br>The last time those games I look'd likely to try on,<br>Says Bradshawe, 'You'll feel very sheepish and shy<br>When you are haul'd up and caution'd by D—g—y and L—n,'<br>But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.<br> <br>This writing bad verses is very fatiguing,<br>The brain and the liver against it combine,<br>And nerves with digestion in concert are leaguing,<br>To punish excess in the pen and ink line ;<br>Already I feel just as if I'd been rowing<br>Hard all—on a supper of onions and tripe<br>(A thing I abhor), but my steam I've done blowing,<br>I am, my dear Bell, yours truly, 'The Pipe'.<br> <br>P.S.—Tell J. P., if he fancies a good ‘un,<br>That old chestnut pony of mine is for sale.<br> <br>N.B.—His fore legs are uncommonly wooden,<br>I fancy the near one's beginning to fail,<br>And why shouldn't I do as W—n does oft,<br>And swear that a cripple is sound—on the Bible—<br>Hold hard ! though the man I allude to is soft,<br>He's game to go in for an action of libel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Adam+Lindsay+Gordon">Adam Lindsay Gordon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=339865" data-title="Part III: Credat Judaeus Apella de Adam Lindsay Gordon" data-description="Dear Bell,—I enclose what you ask in a letter,
A short rhyme at random, no more and no less,
And you may insert it, for want of a better
Or leave it, it doesn't much matter, I guess ;
And as for a tip, why, there isn't much in it,
I may hit the ..."></div>
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