  How to make a Mare go. Money makes the mare to go," is a very old proverb. Very few men have read the original poem upon this subject, except they have met with a very old volume of Crashaw's Poems. "Will thou lend me thy mare to go a mile? No, she is lame, leaping over a stile. But if thou wilt her to me spare, I'll give thee money for thy mare. Ho! ho! say ye so? Money makes the mare to go." But one of the Doctor's patients was an old active fishmonger, of the name of Sturgeon; one well to do indeed in his line, a hundred years ago. There are a great many who now supply the London market, without any of that hard road work from Greenwich to Billingsgate. Now trains run to and fro, and fish are alive in London from the smacks. But it was smack and go, then, with carts every morning, one after the other in succession, loaded almost top heavy. Then there was unpacking, packing and off for the coaches, Times, Phenomena, Telegraph, Exeter Mail, Yorkshire Old Blue, and a host of others, to supply provincial fishmongers, &c. and great houses in the country. But Mr. Sturgeon had, by command of his surgeon, to drive no longer. But Doctor Gambado insisted upon it, that he must ride on horseback. Now Mr. Sturgeon had a very favourite mare, which could trot well in harness; but could not be persuaded into any but a slow pace, if any one rode on her back. "What would I not give," he said to the Doctor, "if she could be made to go." "Well," said the Doctor, "money makes the mare to go; and I have no doubt old John Tattsall, who was never yet at a loss what to do with horseflesh, would soon put you into the way of making your mare to go." "What! with me on her back?" "Oh, yes! and another besides, if wanted." John was duly consulted. "Well, Mr. Sturgeon, I see no difficulty in the matter. It requires only a little courage on your part, and I am sure you will find it answer you purpose well. You have nothing to do, but exercise a little ingenuity in your own line. When you are next at Greenwich, just take a good strong lobster, with a pair of tremendous claws; fasten him by the tail to the inside of your fishmonger's coat, and let his head and clinchers hang out against the mare's flank. Sit you firm in the saddle, with your feet well out of the black pincher's way. One gripe, and the mare will go like a shot; nor will she stop to let you pick up your hat and wig; but wherever her stable is in town, you will see she will never stop till she reaches it." The trial was made, and Away went Sturgeon, like a shot,— Away, away! The mare could trot; And so she did,—nor did she pause.— John Tattsall gained the world's applause; For one sharp bite upon the side, And such a gripe of hair and hide, The monster held within his claw, That Sturgeon scarce could hold her jaw. With head uplift, and leg up high, The mare, like swallow, seemed to fly, And soon, from Sturgeon's round bald pate, The wig and hat flew o'er the gate; But on rode Sturgeon, made to know How well to make a mare to go. |
|
