What a delightful thing's a turnpike road!

So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving

The Earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad

Air can accomplish, with his wide wings waving.

Had such been cut in Phaeton's time, the god

Had told his son to satisfy his craving

With the York mail;—but onward as we roll,

Surgit amari aliquid—the toll![555]