Yellow wheels and red wheels, and wheels that squeak and roar,
Big buttons, brown wigs, and many capes of buff ...
Someone's bound for Sussex, in a coach-and-four;
And, when the long whips crack,
Running at the back
Barks the swift Dalmatian, whose spots are seven-score.
White dust and grey dust, fleeting tree and tower,
Brass horns and copper horns, blowing loud and bluff ...
Someone's bound for Sussex, at eleven miles an hour;
And, when the long horns blow,
From the wheels below
Barks the swift Dalmatian, tongued like an apple-flower.
Big domes and little domes, donkey-carts that jog,
High stocks and low pumps and admirable snuff ...
Someone strolls at Brighton, not very much incog.;
And, panting on the grass,
In his collar bossed with brass,
Lies the swift Dalmatian, the KING's plum-pudding dog.
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