I’m pleased to fancy how the glad compact
Of Hackney coachmen sneer at the last act.
Hark! how the scoffing concourse hence derives
The proverb, ‘Needs must go when th’ devil drives.’
Yonder a whisper cries, ‘’Tis a plain case
He turned us out to put himself in place;
But, God-a-mercy, horses once for aye
Stood to ’t, and turned him out as well as we.’
Another, not behind him with his mocks,
Cries out, ‘Sir, faith, you were in the wrong box.’