And Dobbin in his younger days was distanced by but few.
We sped along about a mile, it was a merry chase,
But Dobbin gave it up at last, and, dropping from the race,
He looked at me, as if to say: “Old man, I’m in disgrace.
The horse is surely passing by, the bike has got his place”
And all that day, while in the town, old Dobbin’s spirits fell;
His stout old pride was broken sure; the reason I could tell.
But when that night we trotted back from town, below the hill
We met two weary cyclers who waved at us a bill
That had a big V on it, and said it would be mine