Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat --
They're away -- here they come -- the first fence,
and he's head over heels for a crown!
Good for the new chum, he's over, and two of the others are down!

Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all;
Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them!
He hasn't much fear of a fall.
Who in the world would have thought it? And aren't they just going a pace?
Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race.

Lord! But they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head,
Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead.
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! By the Lord, he's got most of 'em beat --
Ho! did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat?

Second time round, and, by Jingo! he's holding his lead of 'em well;
Hark to him clouting the timber! It don't seem to trouble the swell.
Now for the wall -- let him rush it. A thirty-foot leap, I declare --
Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare.

What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay!
Sit down and ride for your life now!
Oh, good, that's the style -- come away!
Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip;
Sit down and rub in the whalebone now -- give him the spurs and the whip!

Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown;
Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down.
Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins;