COME all ye gay sportsmen who join in the sport,

And oft to the race-course with pleasure resort,

Come listen to me while of Alice I sing,

Who bids fair to rival the famous Bees Wing.

Chorus.

To swift Alice Hawthorn, then fill up the glass,

And give her a bumper,—the first in the race.

Her sire was famous, Muley Moloch his name,

Her dame was Rebecca, a mare of great fame,

The pride of the turf, and the crack of the day,

They carried the cups and the prizes away.

She beat them at Richmond in the year forty-two,

Also at Northallerton swiftly she flew,

As if she was going on the wings of the wind,

And leaving the jockies to whip up behind.

At Richmond in forty-three, all of them tried,

To beat Alice Hawthorn, but vainly they vied,

'Twas glorious to see how the favourite did run,

And the Victoria Plate like a gallant she won.

At Liverpool races she beat every horse,

And at York too she triumphed, the pride of the course,

And when Alice Hawthorn to Doncaster came,

The cup was her prize, and they all gave her fame.

The year forty-four is the height of her fame,

Her trainer, Bob Hesseltine, joys in her name,

Her master has reaped a good harvest this year,

And swift Alice Hawthorn to Salvin[249] is dear.

At York the Queen's Hundred she then bore away,

And proved herself fairly the crack of the day,

The Yorkers stood gaping and praising the mare,

And Alice! brave Alice! rung loud in the air.

At Lewes she won the Queen's Plate in grand style,

And her rider gazed on the old mare with a smile,

Then Doncaster crown'd her the queen of the course,

By winning three prizes and never a loss.

And now to conclude, you'll allow me to say,

At Richmond she carried the gold cup away,

So here's to Sim. Templeman, drink to the man,

And beat him on Alice ye jocks if ye can.