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.