The Distress'd Travellers; or, Labour in Vain
I.
I sing of a journey to Clifton,
We would have perform'd if we could,
Without cart or barrow to lift on
Poor Mary and me through the mud;
Slee, sla, slud,
Stuck in the mud,
Oh it is pretty to wade through a flood!
II.
So away we went, slipping and sliding,
Hop, hop, a la mode de deux frogs.
'Tis near as good walking as riding,
When ladies are dress'd in their clogs.
Wheels, no doubt,
Go briskly about,
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a rout!
III.
SHE:
Well! now I protest it is charming;
How finely the weather improves!
That cloud, though, is rather alarming;
How slowly and stately it moves!
HE:
Pshaw! never mind;
'Tis not in the wind;
We are travelling south, and shall leave it behind.
IV.
SHE:
I am glad we are come for an airing,
For folks may be pounded and penn'd,
Until they grow rusty, not caring
To stir half a mile to an end.
HE:
The longer we stay,
The longer we may;
It's a folly to think about weather or way.
V.
SHE:
But now I begin to be frighted:
If I fall, what a way I should roll!
I am glad that the bridge was indicted.--
Stop! stop! I am sunk in a hole!
HE:
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poem by William Cowper
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