For the bars jut out, and you must jut out, till you're almost broken in two,
If you clamber you're certain sure of a fall, and you stick if you try to creep through.
Of course, in the end, one learns how to climb without constant tumbles down,
But still as to walking so stylishly, it's pleasanter done about town.
There's a way, I know, to avoid the stiles, and that's by a walk in a lane,
And I did find a very nice shady one, but I never dared go again;
For who should I meet but a rampaging bull, that wouldn't be kept in the pound,
A trying to toss the whole world at once, by sticking his horns in the ground?
And that, by the bye, is another thing, that pulls rural pleasures down,
Ev'ry day in the country is cattle-day, and there's only two up in town.