Cavan is a sporting place adapted for the game,
Well improved for recreations with a smooth and level plain,
To see each steed, with gallant speed, all prancing for the start,
And inclined to face the winning port, and no one there is slack.
The tents are in rotation in the middle of the course,
With the best accomodation in the world can produce.
The landlady inside with her bottle and glass,
And she multiplying the whisky lest the topers should run short.
It's there you'd see confectioners with sugar sticks and cakes,
To accomodate the ladies and to mollify their tastes;
The gingerbread and lozenges and spices of all sorts,
And a big crusheen for threepence to be picking till you're home.
It's there you'd see the muggers and they firing at their hoops,
And the man with the long garter they call the trick-of-the-loup;
And thimble men so nimble that never acted wrong,
And the splendid wheel of fortune that lately came from France.
It's there you'd see the pipers and fiddlers in tune,
And the dancers without falter that can crack and tip the floor,
They'll call for liquor merrily, and pay before they go,
And they'll treat and kiss the girls, and their mothers will not know.
It's there you'd see the jockeys, and they dressed in blue and green,
And they mounted on their horses most commodious to be seen,
When the bugle sounds for starting the people shout for joy,
And they betting ten to one upon the horse that wins the prize.
Now my pen is weary and I mean to end my song,
Success attend the gentleman the races first began;
Success attend each gallant steed that nimbly crossed the plain,
May we live to see the races in Cavan once again.