I bid thee learn, children of tender age,
Facts solely be your guide on learning's stage.
Dismiss ye tales spun out of whimsy's loom,
Cast off soft notions; let the stern facts bloom.
Young miss, I call on thee, define a horse,
And let thy answer have its proper course.
Oh, sir, I... I...
Thou hesitate, dear child,
Is it that fact and fancy are reviled?
Speak up, I say, and answer as you ought.
Now, boy, I ask thee, tell me in short,
What is a horse? Speak true, distort thou not.
A horse, sir, is a beast that doth mankind aid,
In labour, travel, and many a trade.
Ah! True and fit, a fact without pretence,
This is the spirit of our learning's sense.
In this hard world of smoke and toil and grime,
Where facts are sacred, fancy is a crime,
Thus starts our tale, as you've rightly seen,
In Coketown, midst the clamour of the machine.
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