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 n't decline‘ October,’

Or drive quite well if you're quite sober!