“The whip again; away! ’tis too absurd That thou should lash with whipcord now, but sword. I’m pleased to fancy how the glad compact Of Hackney coachmen sneer at the last act. Hark! how the scoffing concourse hence derives The proverb, ‘Needs must go when th’ devil drives.’ Yonder a whisper cries, ‘’Tis a plain case He turned us out to put himself in place; But, God-a-mercy, horses once for aye Stood to ’t, and turned him out as well as we.’ Another, not behind him with his mocks, Cries out, ‘Sir, faith, you were in the wrong box.’ He did presume to rule because, forsooth, He’s been a horse-commander since his youth, But he must know there’s a difference in the reins Of horses fed with oats and fed with grains. I wonder at his frolic, for be sure Four hamper’d coach-horses can fling a brewer; But pride will have a fall; such the world’s course is. He [who] can rule three realms can’t guide four horses; See him that trampell’d thousands in their gore; Dismounted by a party but of four. But we have done with ’t, and we may call The driving Jehu, Phaeton in his fall. I wish to God, for these three kingdoms’ sake, His neck, and not the whip, had giv’n the crack.” Evelyn met with a similar mishap, but fortunately escaped injury. He, too, was accustomed to ride in Hyde Park, and on one occasion is grumbling that “every coach” there “was made to pay a shilling, and a horse sixpence, by a sordid fellow who had purchased it of the State, as they called it.”