Farmer. ‘Tis herself has the great heart.  Hey! that’s never Clancy goin’ down on the owld foxey mare?  Faith, it’s sorra a ha’porth cud she course or lep these fifteen years.

Dealer. Lep, is ut?  Shure she’ll spring out like a birrd an’ fear no foe by dint of the two bottles of potheen she has taken an’ the couple o’ lads Clancy has stationed at ivvery jump to let a roar at her an’ hearthen her wid the sthroke of an ash-plant as she comes at ut.

First Country Boy. Arrah, they’re off, they’re away!

Second Country Boy. Thin let us down to the big double, avic, and be the grace of God we’ll see a corpse.

Girl in Brown (hopping from one foot to the other). Can you see Freddy, Uncle George?  Is he in front?  I’m sure he is.  He hasn’t fallen, has he?  He won’t fall, will he?  I’m sure he will.  I do hope he’ll win; I know he won’t.  The jumps look frightful, and I’m certain he’ll break his darling neck.  Oh, where is he, Uncle George?

Uncle George. Here, take my field-glasses.

Girl in Brown. I can’t see, I can’t see.

Uncle George (drily). Try looking through them the other way round.

Beshawled Crone (towing an aged beggar-man who wears a framed placard reminding the public that “charity covers a multitude of sins,” and announcing that the bearer is not only “teetotally” deaf and dumb, but also blind, barmy and partially paralysed). May God’s blessin’ and the blessin’s of all the howly Saints an’ Martyrs be on ye, and would ye spare a little copper for a poor owld sthricken crature an’ I’ll pray for ye this night an’ ivvery night of me life?

Girl in Brown. Give her a shilling, Uncle George, and tell her to pray for Freddy now.

[Uncle George does the needful.

Beggar-man (miraculously recovering his speech). Whist!  Was that a shillin’ he gave ye?  That makes ten ye have now, thin.  Bun like a hare an’ put ut on Acrobat at the best ye can get.

Farmer. Clancy leads be a length.

Dealer. Thin ’tis a hardy rider will dare pass the owld foxey mare now, for she’d reach out an’ chew the leg off him, she’s that jealous.

Farmer. Woof!  Pat Maguire is into the wather head-first an’ dhrinkin’ a bellyful, I’ll warrant—­which same will be a new sensation for him.

Dealer. It will indeed.  ’Tis a wonder he wouldn’t send a lad round the course before him givin’ the ditches a dash from a pocket-flask the way he’d be in his iliment should he take a toss—­the thirsty poor fella!

Farmer. The foxey mare is down on her nose an’ Clancy throwing somersets all down the course.  Acrobat has ut.

Dealer. He has not.  He is all bet up.  He’s rollin’ like a Wexford pig-boat.  Beau Brocade has the legs of him.

Girl in Brown (jumping up and down). Beau Brocade!  Beau Brocade!  Oh, Freddy darling!