And of duns and embarrassments clear,
Life would pass like a bright summer day,
If I had a thousand a-year.
I’d have such a spicy turn-out,
And a horse of such mettle and breed—
Whose points not a jockey should doubt,
When I put him at top of his speed.
On the foot-board, behind me to swing,
A tiger so small should appear,
All the nobs should protest “’twas the thing!”