Before a learned pig could spell Acropolis,
He went and booked himself for our metropolis.
“Oh, for a horse,” or rather four,—“with wings!”
For so he put the wish into the plural—
No relish he retained for country things,
He could not join felicity with rural,
His thoughts were all with London and the mural,
Where architects—not paupers—heap and pile stones;
Or with the horses’ muscles, called the crural,
How fast they could macadamize the milestones