A king in his rough mode,
He pass’d the hours agreeably
Upon the iron road,—
Took out his sandwiches and beer,
And then would have a smoke,
Drew closer to a lady near,
And (gravely) pass’d this joke—
“This fire-horse, ma’am, breathes very hard;
I don’t much like the brute;
We’d best, I think, be on our guard,”