XLIV.

When its quicksilver's down at zero,--lo! Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage! Wheels whirl from Carlton Palace to Soho, And happiest they who horses can engage; The turnpikes glow with dust; and Rotten Row Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age; And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Sigh--as the postboys fasten on the traces.