70 Seventy Years a Master. 



TO THE FARMERS. 



I often have heard counter-jumpers complain, 



(With frills big as hurdles, and heads without brain), 



Whilst they're robbing the public and scraping up " blunt," 



" Oh ! We think that a farmer has no right to hunt." 



But shall he be set down by what you may decide 1 



I say he's the first that's entitled to ride. 



If he brings up a colt he must break him and bit him, 



Or how is a tailor or tinker to sit him ? 



Could you in your cleverness breed one or break him 1 



Try it for once, and you'll find him a dear one. 



And then, if you mount him and fall in the dirt. 



Mind, pitch on your head, and you'll never get hurt. 



" Thistle Whipper," in Lincoln Green. 



