As I believe, Mr. Editor, your readers
are by this time pretty well tired with
the slang of caucus and anti-caucus;
I send you this little harmless scrap as
a relief.

'Twas on a May morn's earliest dawn,
A Filly ambled down the lawn,
When full before her grimly stood,
A famish'd wolf in search of food.
Well met sweet miss! the ruffian cried,
Well met indeed, the colt replied:
A charming morning added he,
A charming morning echo'd she;
I am in haste, pray give me way,
I must not, cannot, will not stay:

But prythe why in such a hurry,
There's nothing gain'd by fuss and hurry.
A little minute's all I claim.
Nay do not frown my pretty dame,
Your'e young, you're very young, I deem.
Pray what's your age my lovely Queen?

I cannot say, but I am told
It's written on my foot in gold;
A Fairy pen'd it there in jest--
Read it -- and set your heart at rest.

Upon my honour I declare
I cannot see a letter there.

View closer then, the Filly cries!
Again he pores again he pries:

Not quicker from the embroiled sky
Does the impetuous lightning fly,
Than both her heels full in his face,
And brains and blood bestew'd the place.

Tis fair that biters should be bit,
And wit be doom'd to combat wit.