Page:Fasten's-day, a poem, or, Kilmarnock races, and frolics, on that celebrated day.pdf/7

 7 Bridgeton last year was just the man. Scarce such a racer ever ran, But now he slid and sprain'd his leg: His rinning now's no worth a peg: Thus oft it is when virtue halts, That mankind glory in her faults; Instead of counsel you'll see laughing: Instead of pity thoughtless daffing. O would but man think what befel Another, may come on himsel', He surely would not be severe, But learn to shed compassion's tear. Behold, the ring breaks on the green, Again the varied sports begin, The boys at tig are running jinking, And here and there are supple linking They all are playing curions trick, Some throwing turfs or bits of sticks; When lo! the drum gives a loud call, Then forms the ring both young and auld; Then all look on with anxious glour, And cry, this race there's only four. The shout is rais'd, its King, ifs King, In vain they push him round the ring, Like some swift ship before the wind, That leaves the lagging fleet behind,