“At _Blagrave’s_ once upon a time, There stood a phaeton sublime: Unsully’d by the dusty road Its wheels with recent crimson glow’d; Its sides display’d a dazzling hue, Its harness tight, its lining new: No scheme-enamoured youth, I ween, Survey’d the gaily deck’d machine, But fondly long’d to seize the reins, And whirl o’er _Campsfield’s_ tempting plains. Mean time it chanc’d, that hard at hand A one-horse chair had took its stand; When thus our vehicle begun To sneer the luckless chair and one. ‘How could my master place me here Within thy vulgar atmosphere? From classic ground pray shift thy station, Thou scorn of _Oxford_ education! Your homely make, believe me, man, Is quite upon the Gothic plan; And you, and all your clumsey kind, For lowest purposes design’d: Fit only with a one ey’d mare, To drag, for benefit of air, The country parson’s pregnant wife, Thou friend of dull domestic life, Or, with his maid and aunt, to school, To carry _Dicky_, on a stool. Or, haply to some christ’ning gay, A brace of godmothers convey.— Or, when blest _Saturday_ prepares For _London_ tradesmen rest from cares, ’Tis thine, o’er turnpikes newly made, When timely show’rs the dust have laid, To bear some alderman serene To _fragrant Hampstead’s sylvan_ scene. Nor higher scarce thy merit rises Among the polish’d dons of _Isis_. Hir’d for a solitary crown, Canst thou to _schemes_ invite the _Gown_? Go, tempt some prig, pretending taste, With hat new cock’d and newly lac’d, O’er mutton chops, and scanty wine, At humble _Dorchester_ to dine! Mean time remember, lifeless drone! I carry _Bucks_ and _Bloods_ alone. And oh! when ’er the weather’s friendly, What inn at _Wallingford_ or _Henley_, But still my vast importance feels, And gladly greets my entring wheels. And think, obedient to the throng, How yon gay streets we sneak along: While all with envious wonder view The corner turn’d so _quick_ and _true_.’ To check an upstart’s empty pride, Thus sage the one horse chair reply’d. ‘Pray, when the consequence is weigh’d What’s all your spirit and parade? From mirth to grief what sad transitions, To broken bones—and impositions! Or if no bones are broke, what’s worse, Your _schemes_ make work for _Glass_ and _Nourse_. On us pray spare your keen reproaches, From one-horse chairs men rise to coaches; If calm discretion’s steadfast hand, With cautious skill the reins command, From me fain health’s fresh mountain springs, O’er me soft snugness spreads her wings: And innocence reflects her ray To gild my calm sequester’d way; E’en kings might quit their state to share Contentment and a one horse chair.—