Wild Webber, wild Webber, why rush on so fast?
Your speed is so reckless, it never can last.
Why can't you glide gently around the rough stones,
They'll not move a hair's breadth for all your loud moans.

Besides, at the angle which mortals call " right "
Head-foremost you charge me; I shrink with affright.
The primroses, open-eyed there on the brink,
Are watching us quite at a loss what to think.

Webber .

Indeed, Mrs Dart, I must own it is true;
But then, pray consider, I'm younger than you;
And really till here in this dingle we met,
A lesson in manners I never did get.

Henceforth arm in arm we'll move on, if you please,
And just at your pace; pray be quite at your ease;
But ere we arrive at Holne Chase, I foresee,
The echoes will hear you far louder than me.