The polish’d age rolls on at ease:
Coach, chariot, chaise, berlin, landau[41]
(Machines the ancients never saw)
Indulge our gentle sons of war,
Who ne’er will mount triumphant car.
The carriage marks the peer’s degree,
And almost tells the doctor’s fee;
Bears ev’ry thriving child of art;
Ev’n thieves to Tyburn claim their cart.
O cruel law! replete with pain,