Grim was the smile, and tremulous the voice with which I spoke,
Like any one's when jesting with a subject not a joke,
So men have trifled with the axe before the fatal stroke.
"Lady, if mine had been the luck in Yorkshire to be born,
Or any of its ridings, this would be a blessed morn;
But, hapless one! I cannot ride—there's something in a horse
That I can always honor, but I never could endorse—
To speak still more commercially, in riding I am quite
Averse to running long, and apt to be paid off at sight:
In legal phrase, for every class to understand me still,