If any thought e’er flitted in his head
Belonging to the sphere of Bland and Crocky,
It was to wish the team all thorough-bred,
And every buckle on their backs a jockey:
When spinning down a steep descent, or rocky,
He never watch’d the wheel, and long’d to lock it,
He liked the bolters that set off so cocky:
Nor did it shake a single nerve or shock it
Because the Comet raced against the Rocket.
Thanks to which rivalry, at last the journey