Detested Sport, That Owes Its Pleasures To

All Affectation; 'tis My Perfect Scorn; Object Of My Implacable Disgust.

Satan Trembles When He Sees The Weakest Saint Upon Their Knees.

Habits Are Soon Assumed; But When We Strive To Strip Them Off, 'tis Being Flayed Alive.

Sends Nature Forth The Daughter Of The Skies... To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

If Hindrances Obstruct The Way, Thy Magnanimity Display. And Let Thy Strength Be Seen: But O, If Fortune Fill Thy Sail With More Than A Propitious Gale, Take Half Thy Canvas In.