If the Cap Fits.. . . (With apologies to Robert W. Young)

There’s a roar from on the roadway—Oh, listen, Honey, listen ! Do you hear it, do you fear it, you’re a-holding of me so You’re a-sobbing in your sleep, dear, and your lashes how they glisten ;

Do you hear the revving engines all a-begging me to go ? All a-begging me to leave you, day and night they’re sighing, zooming, From iionington, from Brooklands, from Shelsley, and from Lewes,

Night and day they never leave me—do you know what they are saying ?

“He was ours before you got him and we want him back again.” Yes, they’re wanting me, they’re haunting me, the large and little motors ; They’re whining and they’re whispering, as if each had a soul ; They’re calling from the Stelvio, the Continental hill climbs,

From Monaco and Tripoli “When shall we race again ? ” They miss my jet black brake marks, the reek of Castrol It, In the heart of motor racing, where was never man so small ; Where motorless I sought them, driving mad, daring, dreaming,

Where they hailed me as a driver and they loved me ever more. And now they’re all a-crying, and it’s no use me denying The spell of them is on me and I’m helpless as a child ; My heart is aching, aching, but I hear them sleeping, waking :

It’s the roar of revving engines, it’s the spell of Motoring. I’m afraid to tell you, Honey, I can take no bitter leaving,

But softly in the sleeptime from your love I’ll steal away. Oh, it’s cruel, Honey, cruel, and it’s God knows how I’m grieving, But the God of Speed is calling and he knows I must

obey. T. A. J.