_For over the front wheel one's apt to shoot._)

The traveller's whirled from station unto station,
(_I wish there were more stations on this road_,)
With hardly half a chance for observation.
(_If I know where I am, may I be blowed!_),
Without an opportunity to examine
The district. (_Wish that I could spot a pub!_
_For I am overdone with thirst and famine,_
_And see no chance of tipple or of grub!_)

(_I must travel many miles o'er clay or cobble,_
_I fear, before I'll have a real rest,_
_The big wheel and the little shift and wobble,_
_I think the low pneumatic Cycle's best._
_Eh? "Dangerous to Cyclists!" That's a notice,_
_I fancy, that suggests a spin down-hill._
_How stiff I feel! How very parched my throat is!_
_Hold up! By Jove, but that was near a spill!_)

I emphasise the fact that I consider
That, physically--(_Pheugh! that little wheel_
_Is dangerous as poor old WELLER's "widder_,")
Yes, morally, and socially, I feel
The benefits of Cycling are unbounded,
Almost--(_Almost I fear a nasty fall!_
_I wish, with big and little wheel confounded,_
_That I were on a Safety, after all!_)

* * * * *