And a leafs I had prigg’d from the books of Nick Ward.
Now I humbly begs leave at sich nonsense to grin—
One objects I had, and that there was to win;
And who’er at my tictacs may fancy a fling,
Such dodging’s all fair by the Rules of the Ring.
On strengths and on plucks do men place sole reliance?
Is nothing allow’d for manoovers and science?
The systems of getting away would you fetter?
Why, Bobbys, my tulips, you knows a deal better?
Too fast with your rush you were constantly in,