THE art of good driving's a paradox quite,
Though custom has prov'd it so long;
If you go to the left, you're sure to go right,
If you go to the right, you go wrong.
AS the days lengthen,
So the storms strengthen.
THE fair maid who, the first of May,
Goes to the fields at break of day,
And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree,
Will ever after handsome be.
FRIDAY night's dream,
On the Saturday told,
Is sure to come true,
Be it never so old.
EARLY to bed, and early to rise,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.
