T HOUGH you are lighter than a cork,
And feathers combat with a fork;
I love your prose — I hate your verse ;
You 're an amusement — and a curse.
Whether 'tis calm, or blowing weather,
Let us both sink or swim together.
S APPHO called the Horse and the Rider (meaning the Author and his Nag) two fidgeis always upon the wing. — P HAON presented them to her in a picture of a man on horseback, and with the following billet-doux pinned upon the horse's left ear.

Y OU thought my nag and me together
In want of nothing — but a tether:
In that saloon, as in a pound,
The rambling fugitives are bound.
Pray hold them fast, nor let them fly,
Till we go with them — you and I.
To Cambria leave the Circuiteer,
But chain the Horse and Rider here.
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