But chiefly 'twas on her all eyes were fix'd,
And women wondered what she could have got
For making of herself a show; and men
Opined that cotton wool she'd freely used;
And one low churl, compact of thankless earth,
Drawing a pin and rushing at her horse
Prick'd—but it was no good, the steed jogged on
As theretofore: and thanks to frequent bangs
And shouts of "Right" did reach the end at last
Of the day's progress, much to its delight.