Out of great wisdom, long stored up,
I would write me a rune of the Melbourne Cup.
Out of experience, grave and gay,
I would raise me a rhyme to the gala day.
With words of wisdom then let us begin;
For a many shall wager, but few shall win.
And first a warning: Go slow this trip,
For there's many a slip 'twixt the Cup and the tip.
And the sport of Kings, tho' it capture the town,
Is never for one with but half-a-crown.
For this oft is the tale of a Cup Day revel;
Dine with the gods and sup with the devil.
And this oft is the rule when the lucky man sups:
He is in on the Cup and he's on in his cups.
When the living is slow and the horse also
It doesn't much matter what pace you go.
When the living is slow and the horse is fast,
You may keep to a pace that is like to last.
When the living is fast and the horse is "dead,"
There's the dickens to pay, and an aching head.
But, fast or slow, if you play the game
To the end, then the end is much the same.
So this is the motto to hold and to hug:
There is but one Cup; but there's many a mug.
And these be the sayings of Smug, the saint,
You may guess he's a grouch, but I wot he ain't.
So, out or in, if you still can grin,
Here's a glorious day to you, lose or win!

"Den"
Herald, 4 November 1933, p6