This moral, I trust, you'll deduce from my lay—
If ever you're minded the mischief to play.
Be sure that you're able the "needful" to find,
In other words, certain of "raising the wind";
And then, when you're bent upon "going the pace,"
Don't count on the wind, or I pity your case.
There are bikes at your service, and motors galore.
Steam, gas, and electric machines by the score;
Again, if for skittish amusement you search.
Don't meddle, I pray, with affairs of the church.
The puppets of politics—all will admit—
Are legitimate sport for exuberant wit;
But if ever a trick on the clergy you play,
You'll speedily find there's the "dickens to pay."
There are bikes at your service, and motors galore.
To angels—when met—be extremely polite,
Attentions too forward they'll keenly requite;
Don't ruffle their feathers; just let them alone.
Else, if you're converted, 'twill be into stone;
Don't chum with low people, unruly and bold.
And be left, when they've done with you, "out in the cold."
Don't be far too clever; but seek to be good,
And when you're at Lincoln behave as you should:
Step into the Minster the Imp to behold.
Who points to the truth of the tale that I've told.
So visit old Lindum, a city most rare;
Of course take a ticket, and pay the due fare!
Of course take a ticket, and pay the due fare!
