Sic Transit . . .

            Bundy and son
            In days that are done
Used to build coaches for everyone;
            Manor and hall
            Great folk and small,
Bundy’s built carriages once for ’em all.

            Coaches and gigs
            And thingummyjigs
For people in patches and full-bottomed wigs
            That highwaymen stopped
            Who long ago dropped
To dust on the gibbet where downland sheep cropped;

            Cabriolets
            And family shays
Of GEORGE'S and ANNE’S and VICTORIA’S days —
            Slow wheels and fast
            All have at last
Rattled away down the road of the Past.

            Bundy is dead;
            Pumps green and red
Stand in a row in his carriage works’ stead;
            And, dappled with mire,
            By the didakai’s fire
You may see the smart dog-cart he built for the squire,
            With a skinny-ribbed gry
            A-grazing hard by
And the didakai’s duds hanging about it to dry.