Tithe? Pooh! He's not in it, my beauty, with you.
You've breed, style, and mettle, and look in rare fettle.
If I had to settle, you know what I'd do!
These gentlemen-riders deem all are outsiders
Save them: as if gent ever made A 1 jock!
Ah! ADAM L. GORDON,[1] poor chap, had a word on
Such matters. I'll warrant he sat like a rock,
And went like a blizzard. Yes, beauty, it is hard
To eat off your head in the stable like this.
Too long you have idled; but wait till you're bridled!