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.