THE COACHMAN.
You're bound to nothing, strictly speaking,
But just to keep the wheels from creaking;
And then to drive just slower, faster,
To please yourself more than your Master.
But teach your horses, when you're toping,
The art to stand stock-still and moping.
Tell Master that they're getting old,
And "one on 'em has got a cold,"
When at the alehouse you've a call,
And not inclined to drive at all.
If Master takes a short excursion,
Get drunk, and play up 'Mag's diversion;'
Pass some deep pit close to the brink,
To show you're none the worse for drink;
And swear you can't decline 'October,'
Or drive quite well if you're quite sober!
