Dear mother, don't laugh, you may think she is tipsy
And I, if a poet, must drink like a gipsy.
Suppose I should borrow the horse of Jack Stenton—
A finer ridden beast no muse ever went on—
Pegasus' fleet wings perhaps now are frozen,
I'll send her old Stenton's, I know I've well chosen;
Be it frost, be it thaw, the horse can well canter;
The sight of the beast cannot help to enchant her.
All the boys at our school are well, tho' yet many
Are suffered, at home, to suck eggs with their granny.