Pony

1879, “Some Queer Interviews: Interview with a Pony of Beer”, Puck, Vol. 5–6, p. 435

‘I’m on the inside track,’ said a pony of beer as it went galloping down a man’s throat.

Demon popped into his mouth a last morsel of black bread with elastic samlet, gulped down a last pony of vodka and took his place at the table with Marina facing him across its oblong length.

I did not even know what a ‘pony’, a small chaser of beer, was. But of course I could not admit that. So putting on an air of nonchalance, and a deep voice, I strolled into a pub with one of the other equally naive guys and we ordered two ponies of beer. ‘McEwans?’ asked the barman. ‘Naw - ponies’ said I.

“You said a pony,” interposed Clavering; “my dear fellow, you said a pony, and I’ll be eternally obliged to you; and I’ll not take it as a gift—only as a loan, and pay you back in six months. I take my oath, I will.” “Well—well—there’s the money, Sir Francis Clavering. […] Here’s five-and-twenty for you.

She kept the dates written down in her Latin 'pony', so she didn't have to bother about who it was.

His hair is a semilong dull red and pulled back in a sloppy pony at the base of his neck, and his face is riddled with small freckles and grease, but out here I can see personal hygiene isn't exactly at the top of the priority list.

How many ponies are under the hood?

Do the monkey, do the pony / Do the slop, do the boogaloo twist.

He suggested a Rose Ballet in which he would use the G. V. Follies chorus girls, chiefly the ponies and mediums.