“Good lack,” quoth John, “yet try it on.”
“’Twon’t do,” the guard replies,
And bearing wife and babes on board,
The train without him flies.
Now see him in a second train,
Behind the iron steed,
Borne on, slap-dash for life or bones
With small concern or heed.
Away went Gilpin neck or naught,
Exclaiming, “Dash my wig!