Steeds And Their Riders

DON'T spur us so: you'll ever find,
When you will ride at giddy paces
There's always something in the wind,
At which ere long you'll twist your faces.

What, we're but steeds whom no one recks?
Then spurs us till we're sores all over:
The sooner you have smash'd your necks,
The sooner we'll have gone to clover!