William Henry Ogilvie (21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963 / Kelso, Scotland)
Biddy, be Kind!
Now what do you want to be playing about for,
Reefing and reaching your head for the bit?
This is the gentlest of canters you're out for,
And neither yourself nor your rider is fit ;
I, who have lazed .
While the summer sun blazed,
At ease in a hammock with cool things to drink;
You, late a rover
In cocksfoot and clover,
With mud on your mane-locks and loose shoes a-clink.
This is too soon to be prancing and sidling;
The elm is still green and the ditches are blind;
The sun is still strong and suggestive of idling-
So, Biddy, be kind!
Time and enough when they're drawing the gorses
To put up your back with those ominous squeals,
To plunge when they pass you on cantering horses,
To flaunt your red ribbon and fling up your heels.
Slippy and tarred
Is the highway, and hard;
A fall is the last thing on earth I desire;
By all means be sprightly, But do it politely
With not too much fervour and not too much fire.
The season's too young yet for trying a tussle;
Rough-riding at present is not to my mind;
Just wait a few weeks till we work up our muscle-
Come, Biddy, be kind!
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