Classic Poem

When Winchester races first took their beginning
It is said the good people forgot their old Saint
Not applying at all for the leave of S t Swithin
And that William of Wykham's approval was faint.

The races however were fix'd and determin'd
The company met & the weather was charming
The Lords & the Ladies were sattin'd & ermin'd
And nobody saw any future alarming.

But when the old Saint was informed of these doings
He made but one spring from his shrine to the roof
Of the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruins
And thus he address'd them all standing aloof.

Oh, subjects rebellious, Oh Venta depraved
When once we are buried you think we are dead
But behold me Immortal. — By vice you're enslaved
You have sinn'd & must suffer. — Then further he said

These races & revels & dissolute measures
With which you're debasing a neighbouring Plain
Let them stand — you shall meet with your curse in your pleasures
Set off for your course, I'll pursue with my rain,

Ye cannot but know my command o'er July,
Henceforward I'll triumph in shewing my powers,
Shift your race as you will it shall never be dry
The curse upon Venta is July in showers.