23
Here lay, o'erturn'd in woeful plight
a pedlar and his pack,
There in a shoeman's broken box,
all London went to wrack.
But now the fates decreed to stop
the ruin of the day,
And make the gig and driver too
a heavy reckoning pay.
A ditch there lay both broad and deep,
where streams as black as flux,
From every quarter of the town,
their muddy currents mix.
Down to its brink in heedless haste,
the frantic horses flew,
And in the midst with sudden jerk,
their burden overthrew.
The prostrate gig with des'prate force,
they soon pull'd out again,
And at their heels in ruin dire,
dragg'd lumb‘ring o'er the plain.
Here lay a wheel, the axle there,
the body there remain'd,
Till sever'd limb from limb the car,
nor name nor shape remain'd.
But Jehu must not be forgot,
left floundering in the flood,
With clothes all drenched, and mouth
and eyes,
be plastered oʻer with mud.
