Of bogs and bushes bore the brunt,
Nor once my courser held in;
But when I saw a yawning steep,
I thought of "Look before you leap,"
And curb'd my eager gelding.

While doubtful thus I rein'd my roan,
Willing to save a fractured bone,
Yet fearful of exposure,
A sportsman thus my spirit stirr'd--
"Delays are dangerous;"--I spurr'd
My steed, and leap'd th' enclosure.

I ogled Jane, who heard me say
That "Rome was not built in a day,"
When lo: Sir Fleet O'Grady
Put this, my saw, to sea again,
And proved, by running off with Jane,
"Faint heart ne'er won fair Lady."

Aware "New Brooms sweep clean," I took
An untaught tyro for a cook,
(The tale I tell a fact is)
She spoilt my soup; but, when I chid,
She thus once more my work undid,
"Perfection comes from Practice."

Thus, out of every adage hit,
And, finding that ancestral wit
As changeful as the clime is: