Lyrics The Undertaker's Horse - Leslie Fish

The eldest son bestrides him,
And the pretty daughter rides him,
And I often meet him mornings on the Course
And there kindles in my bosom
An emotion chill and gruesome
As I canter past the Undertaker's Horse.

Neither shy is he nor is restive,
But a hideously suggestive
Trot, professional and placid, he affects
And the cadence of his hoof-beats
To my mind this grim reproof beats:
"Mend your pace, my friend, I'm coming. Who's the next?"

Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen,
I have watched the strongest go
Men Of pith and might and muscle at your heels,
Down the plantain-bordered highway,
Heaven send it never be my way
In a lacquered box and jet upon wheels.

Answer, sombre beast and dreary,
Where is Brown, the young, the cheery,
Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force?
You were at that last dread dak
We must cover at a walk,
Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse!
Answer, sombre beast and dreary,
Where is Brown, the young, the cheery,
Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force?
You were at that last dread dak
We must cover at a walk,
Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse!

Answer, somber beast and dreary,
Where is Brown, the young, the cheery,
Smith, the pride of all his friends and half the Force?
You were at that last dread stalk
We must cover at a walk,
Bring them back to me, O Undertaker's Horse!

Ah! stud-bred of ill-omen,
I have watched the strongest go -- men
Of pith and might and muscle -- at your heels,
Down the plantain-bordered highway,
(Heaven send it ne'er be my way!)
In a lacquered box and jetty upon wheels.

With your mane unhogged and flowing,
And your curious way of going,
And that businesslike black crimping of your tail,
Even with with Beauty on your back, Sir,
Pacing as a lady's hack, Sir,
What wonder when I meet you I turn pale

It may be you wait your time, Beast,
Till I write my last bad rhyme, Beast
Quit the sunlight, cut the rhyming, drop the glass
Follow after with the others,
Where some dusky heathen smothers
Us with marigolds in lieu of English grass.

Or, perchance, in years to follow,
I shall watch your plump sides hollow,
See Carnifex gone lame become a corpse
See old age at last o'erpower you,
And the Station Pack devour you
I shall chuckle then, O Undertaker's Horse!