And, could but fairy laundresses be found,
We might below get iron’d, wash’d, and dried!
Stout oars and swelling sails we once did deem
Sufficient in a boat for tide and wind;
Now only boiling water we esteem,
And all, though right before is left behind!
Horses were changed, en route to Gretna Green,
And “first pair out!” would landlords loudly bawl;
But “Polly put the kettle on,” I ween,
Will greet us when for horses there’s no call!