The coachee quite proud of his horse-flesh and trip,
Cried, ‘Go it, ye cripples!’ and gave them the whip,
And ten miles an hour, by the help of the thong,
They put forth their mettle and scampered along.
The Present has taken great strides of the Past,
For carriages run without horses at last!
And what is more strange,—yet it’s truth I avow,
Hack-horses themselves have turned passengers now!
These coaches alive go in sixes and twelves,
And once set in motion they travel themselves!