I beg leave to remain, Mr. Editor,
Your obliged Servant,
A Friend to the Subscription Coaches.
[21-*] The regular time is to perform the journey in twenty-two hours—to leave London at six in the evening, and arrive in Exeter at four the following afternoon.
All the world is a Stage Coach: it has its insides and outsides, and
Coachmen in their time see much fun.”—Old Play.
Tune—“The Huntsman Winds his Horn.”
Some people delight in the sports of the turf
Whilst others love only the chace,
But to me, the delight above all others is
A good Coach that can go the pace.
There are some, too, for whom the sea has its charms
And who’ll sing of it night and morn,
But give me a Coach with its rattling bars
And a Guard who can blow his horn.
But give me a Coach, &c.
When the Coach comes round to the office door,
What a crowd to see it start,
And the thoughts of the drive, cheer up many who leave
Their friends with an aching heart.
The prads are so anxiously tossing their heads,
And a nosegay does each one adorn,
When the Dragsman jumps up, crying out “sit fast,”
While the shooter blows his horn.
When the Dragsman jumps up, &c.