and my hobby-horse—in order to keep characters as separate as may be,
in our fancies as we go along.
For my hobby-horse, if you recollect a little, is no way a vicious
beast; he has scarce one hair or lineament of the ass about him——’Tis
the sporting little filly-folly which carries you out for the present
hour—a maggot, a butterfly, a picture, a fiddlestick—an uncle _Toby_’s
siege—or an _any thing_, which a man makes a shift to get a-stride on,
to canter it away from the cares and solicitudes of life—’Tis as useful
a beast as is in the whole creation—nor do I really see how the world
could do without it——
——But for my father’s ass——oh! mount him—mount him—mount him—(that’s
three times, is it not?)—mount him not:—’tis a beast concupiscent—and
foul befal the man, who does not hinder him from kicking.